Admitted: I try to write, and three years after writing her this, she married me

Obviously, I did not read it.

My brother did.

Her smile: It was mischievous in a way only he recognized. She winked: More so with her eyebrows than with her eyes.   This is broken key poetry.   Broken, he wrote; Like the indescribable, non-delineable Syllable That sits on the page like jazz notes.   Key; Like the change on the stage of the same page  Of a certain melody That the artist spoke.   She danced: It was subtle at first and only with her shoulder. She leaned: More so with her waist in a way that said, hold her.   This is broken key poetry.   Poetry because it paints a picture Of a mood and attitude that subdued Their hesitation. Poetry because it inspected A missing piece that now connected Them back to their generation.   The night: It made the air purple as they walked Past trees of dark leaves rustling in the breeze. Their words Were relaxed in the facts of their honesty, And so they held hands.   Silhouette skyscrapers of city lines And lakefront horizons impossible to find Paint a typewriter picture Of him walking with her While planes and a few stars glitter the skies.   This is broken key poetry.   But she makes it sound good.  

Spoken by Kevin Kleinman Date: August 10, 2019 Words by Dan Kleinman Date: August 10, 2016