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.
This poem is dedicated to one of my biggest inspirations, Pat Parker.