By Waceke (21Stars)
The silent hum of the phone,
Your touch lingered in the air.
Words meant for me transformed into a serenade,
Yet, I hesitated to disrupt the delicate facade.
Already a fool, I resisted the urge to make a sound,
Feeling dirty and used in this clandestine playground.
Your words, once gruff, now painted sweet melodies,
Pampering her while I grappled with silent unease.
I pushed your hands away, seeking clarity,
Met with a smooth, confused look, a twisted polarity.
Once more, I surrendered to this clandestine dance,
Call ending, punishment dealt with a familiar harsh glance.
Our moments confined, hidden from the light,
I believed I was accustomed, but it seems not quite.
Longing for a reversal of your every touch,
Contemplating departure, yearning for a different clutch.
Perhaps I’ll walk away, leaving behind your scent,
Burning the clothes that fuelled your intent.
Deleting your number, removing our captured frames,
Seeking solace elsewhere, breaking these clandestine chains.
