Although

I see that the string has been pulled
and I see that you're caught in the frenzy -
you're trying to lull the music into sleep.
I see that you're fluting a purple tune
to this chord that still vibrates
and vibrates, red.

The guitar was a gun
and the trigger done;
I see,
I see that the string has been pulled.

I long to kiss your lips
and empty you of this music.

Although I sing to you at times,
I do not make The Confession.
I only wish you'd see
the concession I made
when you didn't touch me.