Every Colour of Sound Ashes Where Once They Were Fire

i. White Noise

Your hand swallows mine
intersecting light with eyes
kindling scorch, my lips taking
their time to cross the line;
trembling with crescendos,
acciaccaturas, and fortissimos
playing me in clip, making
my blood course double-time
just to spit my “What?” to your
“Can I see you again?” eyebrow

ii. Pink Noise

raising a demon who inserts
his hook to test me; “Of course,”
we part, hesitant heaven might
find our apostasy part of The
Problem and curse us to be right;
shells angled to face fate when
otherwise unable, thrown ashore
by gods rescuing us no more, gods
eschewing two brutes their song
just for walking alone along odds

iii. Red Noise

rocking at the end of the world,
mouthing songs of possibility,
pursing our lips bare hoping our
parted legs might wear into the night
and take us from their tranquility,
since the gods never wanted us here.
I want you; I want deep-as-hell to fly
across every crashing couch to reach
you, to meet you at the spot we buried
our ashes in, but I’m not entirely there;

iv. Grey Noise

so glowing inarticulate into night I stare
and too adamant to quit I sit in my cave
and embrace your neck in my mind’s
frame, flickering but too white to dare
haunt our driven ghost; reeling to give
up my care for you, to let you near.
So I write, striking verse from hurt’s
patina, beating out and off each thought
so someday you can read my truth first,
believing what thirst I bleed is worth it.