Choose carefully, what you have to give has secret powers.
Each cell that sparks from each fingertip that touches your skin.
It all creates silent notes which make silent songs we both dance too.
In the wrong hands the song just comes out flat and broken with no understanding or meaning,
like a train wreck on a barren prairie field.
Such disrespect for such a perfect instrument, created by the hand of God, to birth beauty in every moan.
This is why men use to have to perform feats, and risk there own lives,
just to prove they were worthy enough to stand guard in your shadow.
But what beauty, what indescribable sounds your body makes when it is plucked perfectly.
When each nerve sparks in the rhythm of both heart beats and every breath brings deep bass against our necks.
We move like smoke in a light breeze. We find anchor in the salt left by our sweat.
The universe bends to our silent song and when it is played just right, there's never a dry eye in the house.
So choose carefully who plucks your string.
And when its over I hope your left inspired to sing.