She hangs on the wall

in the lovely wooden cradle

He bought for their anniversary,

untouched now

for two weeks.

 

Breeze whispers through strings

Losing their tune

as the moisture rises

She knows.

His ears are that sensitive to Her

 

She watches him.

When will He take her in his arms?

Has He given her up for the electric

He keeps in the bedroom?

He won’t look at her when He comes in. 

 

Where are the strums?

notes pulled from deep imagination?

The longing spaces between those notes?  

Where is the laughter?

The sudden kisses across her groin?