T and H

The Letter T. The Letter H.
What a funny combination 

Standing Apart
A percussion
And a Woodwind

But together
An elision of steam reduced by simmer
into a once distilled syrup ​
passed over by most diners

Why then?
Should one choose the other 
if the price of marriage is
Power 
Breath
Air 
(Gasp) 

Shall I speak of love?
For what is love, if not a soul's reduction?
A softening of the morsels 
we had come to live by 
Now a stew of roasted garlic and celery. 

To think of all that is lost 
I question what is to be gained  
The wind howling for a home
And in the timpani echoes 
Find Me,
Hold Me,
Soften Me.