Time drips slowly down kitchen cabinets Like cello music, sweet and dark, Spilling over the edges of fingerboards and eyelashes, Arpeggios of stillness cascading through the Silence that is really music reigning the gaps between each whisper of breath and tick of the clock and soft drumming of raindrops on the street, an ensemble of intimacy. I love it here. I love the way it's vulnerable and honest inside your walls of false, forte confidence; There are no cliché expressions of love at first sight, just the words of your heart, Like notes played on an old piano, each separate and round and the tiniest bit halting but beautiful nonetheless. They are rough truths, a little out of tune and not in quite the right key, But they are the truth, And that strikes more chords in my heart than a perfect rendition of well-rehearsed Beethoven harmonies Fitting too perfectly to my rhythms. And the cadence of your laugher flutters in my rib cage like Triple-tongued fanfares, The brush of your fingertips on mine Sending vibratos of warmth through my soul, Yours eyes, honey brown, speaking as powerfully as a Stradivarius Without even the smallest pianissimo whisper of voice, My synapses firing in double-time, heart thumping adagio, allegro, presto, Neither of us conducting, just riding out the jazz and operas and fiddles and symphonies of our love I wish for books of blank pages to keep composing the New melody of our lips, dancing along crescendos of Instinct and softly thrilling secrets On the gentle sonata of a rainy day in June.