Ruptured

From this bed, a satellite, I orbit our fragile blue sphere,

A membrane thin as the sheets that envelop us here.

You're a speck on rust-red rock, a hidden, precious thing,

Beneath the gauzy veil, where love and sorrow cling.

As I, a satellite, transmit signals of anguish and pain,

Your voice responds, a haunting refrain, a 7-cello strain.

Each vibration echoes, devastating and strong,

A late-spring river's rumble, where our hearts belong.

I'm a stifled frequency, merging with the scent,

Of your damp hair, woodsy musk, amidst our combustible dent.

In this two-person world, where love turns to despair,

I'm a fractured cry, a child's scream, with a broken limb to spare.

Words tremble like your hands, the morning after the night,

Stinging like a childhood cavity, a Halloween fright.

Ruptured, I expel the toxic waste of expired years,

A decade's sour filth, as our love dissolves through tears.