Removed

The hat was removed from the scene.
The shirt was removed 
from the crease. The sound, the lips—

silent steps 
around the corner, removed from the tryst—
and the rondo music removed

from the score—my fingers 
danced 
and pleaded, mid-air, always asking 

for more. 
Words, written; made 
signs for 

letters in the pigeon hole. 
Letters that
you and I scatter-planted under the sycamore—

but as we leapt over 
a thousand pages, you folded
for simpler rapport.

Dale Chou
2019-06-29