~Sophia's~ Choice

You gave me Carroll and Lorca
I gave you Flamenco with
a little Sexton on the side.
My castanet clacking confessions
driving your habitual duende.

It was always like this.

Sinking into my reserved spot

on our thrift shop sofa
studying

the cinder shoot rooted to your lips.

Ash colonizing eight inches above 

the carbon stained keyboard, 

a wraith cut-out diminishing, 

the cigarette dragged on.


Eventually you bled to death
leaving nothing but wet dreams
on the marriage bed. Did you forget
I lived in your jugular?

I miss the frothy awakenings,
Café Olé in the morning.
Your mouth tracing my torso

the way a luthier carves willow,

flirting with the taut narrow

until the viola moaned

one octave above 

the cello.