high octaves

Like a bad child, flogged Till his legs forget how to stand, The lashes blur his vision— He never saw it coming. If anyone had told him To keep his mind open, He’d freeze in disbelief— Me? He can’t grasp the problem, Like a lover who falters in bed, Thoughts tangled, breath uneven. “What seems to be the issue?” He boasts, I’ll make you beg, But the words collapse on arrival. It isn’t working. “I want to see your soul And your mind make love to mine, So we can understand each other better.” The low tones, the trembling highs— None of it works. She forces a smile, Keeps the conversation alive, While his self-esteem bleeds quietly. She looks at him— A smirk sharp as truth— You tried.