you're a painting with symbols deep, symphony

soft as it shifts from dark beneath 

a poem that flows, caressing my skin 

in all of these things you reside and I 

want you flow from the pen, bow and brush 

with paper and string, and canvas tight 

with ink in the air, to dust your light? 

from morning to the black of night 





this is my call I belong to You 

this is my call to sing the melodies of You 

this is my call I can do nothing else 

I can do nothing else 



you're the scent of an unfound bloom 

a simple tune 

I only write variations to sooth the mood 

a drink that will knock me down to the floor 

a key that will unlock the door 

where I hear a voice sing familiar themes 

then beckons me weave notes in between 

a tap and a string, a bow and a glass 

you pour me till the day has passed....