My lover's lips are tender.
Tendered by the reed from
Which he sings a thousand
Waves and transcends to a
Dimension, which my eyes
Cannot roam without
Confusion or awe.

For the ways in which
He captivates the
Crowds of souls
Who ponder the extent
Of human excellence
Is through the mystic
Vessel of shining brass.

When his blue eyes wax,
Like glassy moons
Reflecting on cool waters
I pause. And breathe.
And float. And smile.
Uncontrollably- full
of warmth.

And even if I was
Letting heat condense
Making my angst
Obvious to he who
Instigates the malevolent
Creature within;
I am immediately at peace-

Not with myself. But
With the thought of
His love, for his craft.
Each and every
Whisper and growl
Is a hue of his
Kindred spirit.

Through the glass
And in the ringlet of
Sunlight He stood in,
There was tranquility.

To be tranquil
At one's own sorrows
Taxes and tenders
The flesh of living.

As notes and chords
Ascended into
The smokescreen
Of his honesty,

I somehow felt
Soothed and scared
Behind a closed door.
Emotionally longing for more.

As I sit here
I possess a seat
At a table
Many would
Understandably
Be scared of.

To spend time
With thyself
Unphased by
Tenors of busy engines
Against humming
Birdsongs in a grove.

From here
Space feels infinite
Not to the touch
But to the sight
That wanders from green
To blue hues in daylight.

Happily disconnected
Yet connected to
The very essence of
My existence
Which troubles
The modern mind.