I think of your eyes,
dark orbs, darting around the room to find my familiar face .
I think of your spirit,
childish owl, it sails and it sinks, but keeps on swimming.

too often for my own good,
I think of your sheets:
dark and dusty, your face pale and clear.

The window open, horns blare as the city hums,
to the mismatched chords of your black bass.

I think of you, and her
in those dark dusty sheets,
as you serenade a love so pure.