The Swan Song

If I recall it was the first day of November;

although, likely not as cold I remember.

We walked hand in hand through the fallen autumn forest

where the wind awoke the leaves, called on to adore us.

We stopped to carve our budding love into the wood

as I took stock of what I thought I understood.

That moment lingered longer than any moment should

when her eyes said more than her lips ever could.

It was a rehearsed and silent incantation

that stirred then soaked through my elation

and it was only your eyes my ears had heard--

a song you sung so sweetly, my little bird.

Our fire burned through late December

until that night likely just as cold as I remember.

I was lost in passionate pace

when her sore lips tore from my taste.

Her weighted breath drew forth and crept when I asked of another;

then came the slanted eyes and late reply my ears had trapped and smothered.

It was then and only then I truly understood:

her eyes said more than her lips ever could.

And again it was only your eyes my ears had heard--

a siren song you sung so sweetly, my little bird.

So farewell to my love, nearly departed,

may you find better times to leave your windows unguarded.

And as I address your final breath

with my swelling hands tied to your neck,

it is only your eyes I find to be heard

as you sing your song so sweet, my little bird.

And now you know as you go still:

your eyes say more than your lips ever will.