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Perfect Strangers
February 8, 2015
She flitted by,
the missing note
to the second movement of my symphony,
and in that moment,
I knew
No longer may I
acknowledge
the dusting of starlight
she leaves behind with every wink
or the crescendo of her laugh
as her pretense melts away
From now on,
we will coexist
through different harmonies,
and I will pretend
I have no recollection
of the tempo of our love
or the moments
I felt like music
or her French Vanilla
and Advil aftertaste
© Kelsey M., Davenport, IA
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