Reticence…

If I had never told her

about love

would it hurt

when jazz shoves its way

through the crowded silence

of memories that fray

in efforts to survive;

if it never escaped

my infelicitous lips,

would its hubris humility

sting as much

in the absence of her echo;

the reciprocity of my emotional construct,

If the tongue was reticent

would love be evident

and the pain consequential

is this emptiness a result

of my declaration…

 

//Tshombe Sekou

 

One thought on “Reticence…

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