I’ve grown used to it –
the music of you
the kaleidoscope that refracts you
your fiery reds
your sensual purples
the ticks and clicks – combination lock that unlocks me as I unlock it.
into unconditional acceptance.
And with you gone the missteps falter to a halt, the music echoes through a few square metres of cavernous eternity until they are deafening silence; the colours wash out to faded symbols, smeared and poor caricatures for what they represent; the puzzles reconsternate and the locks retick.