Devoice
My head still tilts to hear,
the echoes of your voice—
reverb of almost-near,
kept close to me by choice.
If voices disappear,
I’d equally rejoice—
indeed, without a tear;
but, truthfully: devoice.
My head still tilts to hear,
the echoes of your voice—
reverb of almost-near,
kept close to me by choice.
If voices disappear,
I’d equally rejoice—
indeed, without a tear;
but, truthfully: devoice.