I tried to tie your apron strings,
but tied my tongue instead
and fought for words condemned, unheard
and thoughts that went unsaid.

So tautly ‘round my fingertip
in throes I felt precede
the gentle rhythm of your breath
that rose and fell beneath.

Tomorrow when I call you friend,
don’t look me in the eyes
to test this fragile lie I lent
its brotherly disguise.

But know this silent symphony
replays itself again,
an opus in my memory
arranged against your skin.

©2023 Mateo Vélez