metronome

We communicate in lyrics but there is no song
A metronome, spotless white plastic
No music, no rhythm, no pulse
No blood coursing
No sinew

She smacked my hands into the piano
Her jowls shook with a steady rage
All the ingredients were there
Sitting dry and dead as flour
No crust

Brand new eyes look around the room, fists squeezing
Like a man cut in half by a train
Sad eyes that don’t see watch
No lungs, no heart
No life

Always rooting for me but is it just easy?
Artificially pressed into his arms
Fixed empathic eyes
Does insight crowd
Out love