Calliope

  +20 Poem of lamenting Your Precious is nestled in dark blue silence like a sleeping Smeagol in his cave. Since you left us, your music has only resonated within my heart.   Your mom changed her profile pic again to the one of you smiling in your +20 Shirt of Smiting. I wish I could cast a spell of healing and peace upon her.  Your memory echoes through my emptiness like a minor chord that can’t find its adventure song. How can we finish this quest alone?

I never meant for my voice to be that loud. The wine, you see, was the finest kind, and it flowed. Bottle after bottle, it flowed. Each glass, a layer of lubrication to my thoughts until they slid out of me unabated and unfiltered.   I never meant to pull your trigger, releasing your anger like a shot.  I’m very good at saying the wrong thing sober, still it was the wine, you see, the finest kind, and it flowed. Each glass opened my mouth wider and wider. What else could I do but insert foot?   Can you ever forgive my faux pas? My folly of words as they slid from my lips? Someone said, “She’s cut off.” And the guests all laughed. I saw your furrowed brow as it flowed from my overturned glass as I rose, unsteadily, to go.   I never meant what I said. Please forgive my feckless imitation of social grace. My loose lips and traitorous tongue. You see, it was the wine, the finest kind, and oh, how it flowed. But my deepest regrets remain.