A Lover’s Earlobe

The head tilted slightly,
your left ear’s exposed
in the open air. A protest:
life’s too heavy, you exclaimed.
Removing part of your ear helped
relieve the weight.

Nothing was lighter than the moments we
shared. Your gospel words intruded my
ear: a folktale about a hole on the earlobe.
Someone had to fill it up, a sacrifice.
A thread of silk sprouted and reached
my cap. Hair obscured to reveal your
history and renew a part of it.

Earrings foregone,
your past foretold.
The aperture lured desire to drop by.
I listened to the mourning and yearning
the hole collected. The slit mystified the
contour of your left pinna.
Unblock the ear after it's identified.
That’s the way an ear distinguished
a lover from the deaf crowd.