In His Heart

My hand has developed a slight tremble now,
in an attempt to hold my pen
to see, if there is any ink left to give,
but I have given so much already, so many
under-appreciated words I undressed before him,
undoing eye hooks and buttons, zippers
and laces from bodices, that when every word
dropped, he watched deadpan, while they fell
in a slow float to the floor, and I asked him
if he could hear the weight of it, but he said
he could not, and so I asked him,
“can you feel the sound of it in your heart?”

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