In the distance of an earphone
Bud, gives birth to wired vines. Stone-
Deaf, too tired for a word, but silent
Hums are easy, nodding “yes”. Not
Hearing any word she said, and
Yet it’s clear: This conversation’s end
Drifts ever near like snaking wires
In my ears. This fruit it offers
Tastes so sweet: A playlist, playing
Ever after, on repeat. Music’s praying
Twice, I’m told. Leave me to my verse
My scripture. Rewind tape and play.
Your words are honey now, my dear
But music got its venom in me first.