Three Strikes

Your words form a pattern
offering no semblance of
connectivity and their tone is
uninviting. Repetition takes the
lead and the cadence in your
syllables lacks originality.

They say that love is blind
and my eyes validate their
ruling. 
Tomorrow the sky
will be blue, but not my heart.
I shall buy new specs, for their
effect has weakened over time.

It would seem after all the warm
summer nights, sipping iced tea
with joined hands; after all the
cups of coffee shared at sunrise,
our love would be stronger than
the caffeine consumed by us.

I’d rather not witness more
alphabet rolling off your tongue.
The consonants only match the
stubble on your chin and the vowels,
well, they’ve no place to land, for I’m
no longer wearing the catcher’s mitt.

Lauren Scott © 2013