He wrote you a love song,
A sonnet full of substance
but it quivered
on a quaver,
percussion
piercing it,
smacking it
suddenly,
separating it
from any sense of
synchronicity,
drums
drowning it
in dissension,
ruining
all reminder
of resonance,
burying it brutally
in the blues,
bare and broken.

He wrote you a love song,
an oscillation of collaboration
that could’ve been,
it should’ve been
a summation
of supple notes
and fervent fingers
but it was
a fabrication,
a falsehood,
a flat note,
a rhythm raiding
the reason
and an opus
attesting to obliteration
without ovation.

He wrote you a love song
This is how it ends!

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly