The fear has subsided,
Uncertainty melts into endless kisses,
The second movement begins
On a hopeful note,
The violins build with a confidence
And unity, powerful and harmonious.
The unstructured first movement
Simply a search for a theme
A leitmotif to progress from darkness
To light.
The woodwinds laugh,
The horns announce the news,
The drums are strength and power
Driving the rhythm of our love.
Writing the notes together
We flow like rain
Blow together like leaves
In a breeze so brisk and strong.
We are conducting this movement
In gentle caresses and playful interchanges.
A melody only the heart can hear,
Silently envelops our waking hours,
And urging us to surrender.
The orchestra plays as one
We float upon the ocean of sound,
Wondering if the symphony will ever end.
Let the musicians play on
We can dance till dawn.

Notes float like snowflakes
Carried by the gentle breeze
Landing randomly on her forehead
Her breast and shoulders,
Melting before they can be heard
Or transcribed to paper.
A melody etched in a dream
Fading with the first thought,
But the tune lingers in memory
Nonetheless.
It’s a duet we compose
In passionate embraces
Improvised and syncopated
Lifting spirits and lightening the heart.
This composition has only just begun
Exposing the first movement
We dance to unheard chords,
Smiling and humming as the phrases
Fill the air.
It’s an opus built on hope
In the mystery of night
And structured on sighs.
We are ignorant of the movements
Yet to write,
But we surrender to the inspiration
As the music ebbs and flows
Then in gradual crescendo
We wait, we ponder, we fear
The music yet to come,
In the symphony yet to be written
Our unfinished symphony dances on.

Quiet and cautious
Protecting the secrets
Close to her heart.
Slowly her defenses weaken
Tiptoeing through the forest
Of past desires and fallen trees.
The leaves rustle and she warms
To the approaching dawn.
As squirrels scurry in the trees
She awakens to natures embrace
And lets the water tumble
Over rocks and moss.
Laying in a bed of leaves
The walls have subsided
And the tones of a distant flute
Surround her and dissolve her slumber.

Acceptance based on faith
And blind intuition
Was the first step on the path.
A light from a dark solid rock
A lotus blossom from a murky pond.
The path to Nirvana has no guideposts
Often overgrown or even sandy
And shifting beneath our feet.
But true pilgrims persevere
And follow the silent call
Of destiny or dharma or desire,
Not earthly desires,
For they are a temptress
And an illusion,
But unseen desires,
Unfelt desires,
Deep desires that complete
A Karmic fate.
Our journey is pure and
Preordained,
If we melt into oneness
And feel the soft petals
Beneath our blistered feet.

Was it me or was it you?
At some point it doesn’t matter,
We’ve gone our separate ways
And nothing remains but memories:
Our playful give and take,
The laughter that softened the tears,
The bedroom ballet that kept us smiling.
So many smiles that we thought
Would be emotional cement.
I can’t muster any bitterness
But I can wallow in the happy times
That touched the edges of our lives
And maybe never penetrated deep enough
To sustain what we imagined we had
Together. Forever.

She’s lovely and petite,
Long flowing blonde hair,
The target of constant
Unwanted attention,
The **** of many crude jokes.
Though you can’t deny it
There is a kernel of truth
To every stereotype.
Shallow. Yes she is shallow.
Shallow as the flood waters
Three inches deep, powerful
Enough to sweep your car
Into a watery grave.
Superficial. Yes she is superficial.
Superficial as the thin layer
Of paint on a Renoir or Monet
Colors translucent and divine
Deep and lustrous
Transporting the imagination
To a world of romance and joy.
Clueless. Yes she is clueless.
Clueless as Sherlock Holmes
As he solves a mystery as dark
And complex as any labyrinth
With nary a clue, save for a trail
Of breadcrumbs and a scent of
Gardenia.
Airhead. Yes she is an airhead.
An airhead like the thinnest of air
Atop the mighty Himalayas where
Holy men choose to transcend the
Mundane and commune with
Spirits subtle and ethereal and ultimately
Unknowable.
The world sees her beauty and perhaps
Only her beauty, but they are blinded
By their shallowness, superficiality,
Cluelessness and a brain wallowing
In the clouds of misty ignorance.
Therein lies the joke.