The key


Conversations null and ideas become an infrequent whisper 

The minutes on the clock tick

By now, I search and scour for some clue as to where I can uncover the secret key

to which will unlock the door to your heart


In my overturning in the closet of every article of clothing,

in my rapid rifling through every drawer in every dresser and cabinet,

in my flustered skim through every box on every shelf of every nook and cranny,

I still am at a loss as you are at a loss

For words

For the key


As my search comes to a close, in the very last forgotten corner of an empty room, 

anxiety particular to an unsettling feeling slowly creeps up my body

It begins in my toes and rises until it falls into my belly, my stomach going with it

It moves up to my throat where I can feel it so coherently manifest itself; like a pill I just can’t seem to manage to swallow


As I look to you,

some final hope reaches out

But you reject me and watch as I slowly slip under the water, seemingly at a loss for words


The last thing I see before you slip away—

or perhaps before I slip away—

is the clutch of white knuckles and a placid facial expression