They say to have a writer
Fall in love with you
So you will never die.
But I say
Seize the love of a musician.
Someone to write you
Into colors in the air
And star-****** behind the eyelids
Of any who will listen
To the tale of you that they wrote.

Musicians, like writers,
Bring light through a fog
With their love-speak and poems.
But music-makers
Can create flowers in winter
And warmth without fire.
Their melodies dance
Over the swish of grass blades
And between the tooth-gaps of children
Whose fingers are sticky
With sweet popsicle juice
While an oil-painted scene
Is painted in your mind.

So be cherished my a musician
And hear yourself forever;
Be sung by a hundred different voices,
Danced by fairies and pretty young girls,
Costumed in dissonance,
Etched into souls.
For you can never really die
When you echo forever in the cavern
Of a good song.

When she sings I cry
I am stuck on stilts
Kissing clouds
Suckling on her voice
Supping up the gravy of her thighs
Her music
Makes me feel

The soft muscles
Her tight abs
Behind those glasses
Light eyes sparkle
White lies
Dancing in the lyrics
For anyone who wants to feel it

She is like ******
My addiction
And I keep coming
And coming back again
Running my hands through her hair
But that is in dreams

Life is when dreams end
And I come back down to earth
Crashing
Comet cracking the crust
Spitting and spewing musical dust
And if lust isn’t enough
Then I must
Keep my distance

I love to watch you play
Hear the sweet notes drift out of your saxophone
A lovely melody

You don't always see me
I listen all the same
Such lovely skill
escaping in the form of sound
coming out
of that wonderful saxophone

Maybe it's not the sound
That enchants me so
But the handsome player
Whom I get to call my own

My gorgeous love  
Smart and talented to the end
<3

He sat there
on the edge of my bed,
playing with the strings
on his guitar,
stringing me along.

Pulling me closer
with his voice,
beautifully bruised,
carrying me in.

The moonlight complementing
his every note,
every inch of him.

Buried diep.
Lost within a fantasy.
Lost in this room
with a melody,
and a voice
so addictive.

He sat there,
smoke and moonlight,
playing his guitar.

I live in my mind
Because reality
Doesn’t fit my time.
Everything is all
Wrong, in my mind
I am the musician of my
Own song, and you are
Notes that I forever
Want to play,
Nice and slow
Taking my time
Because I never want
To let go, of the beautiful
Moments we spend in my mind

The musician cries
As he sings a sweet song
He feels the same way
As he has for so long
The feeling of love and
The feeling of worth
Has all been crumbled
And put in the dirt
After a show he gets peace of mind
Finding room to breath
But still not all are kind

That night they caused him to crack
Pushed him to the limit
And that was that
He wrote one last song
Recorded it there, played it outloud
In case someone cared
Noose made from the strings of a guitar
He walked off the staff
And stopped his metronome heart

Despite people constantly explainings music theory
I’ve never quite grasped the concept
Of different keys.
Because to me
Something would feel sharp and
Fall flat but
Be all too natural to you

And I had difficulty trying to articulate what I meant to say
Because we had such an interesting dynamic
And dissonance is positive when done correctly,
Right?

Constantly, you played chords on my heart strings
Like the threads wound tightly against the pegs on your guitar.
Beautifully
But never gently
Rarely slow
With some fascinating sort of
Passion
But not always the kind that I understood

And despite believing that your interest was genuine
I sometimes wondered if you got as much of a rush from
Holding the curves of that wooden body close to you
As you did from thriving on the attention that you got
When people saw that you had the skill
To manipulate something ordinary into something unique.


And I’ll admit
It got into my head
And caused me to fret

Refraining from over-analysis
Has never been my forte.
But somehow we always managed to bridge the gap
That our differences created
And accented the qualities that really made us harmonious.

Hoping you would not hesitate to
Pick me and
Bend me and
Guard me and
Let the notes ring loud and frenzied and
Place your hands
Along my neck
To let me be the fine-tuned
Instrument
Of your affection.

With lungs andante
And a heartbeat accelerando
I’d leave it up to you to conduct
A tempo.
While the melody lead us
In an entanglement of musical phrases and lyrical nonsense
That all came together.

I suppose.

But don’t ask me why,
I never understood music theory
I just know what I like to hear.

Alive
At the sight of love
No gender, no color
No religion
Alive
At the sight of love
In sight of simplest thoughts
Believing
Two souls blending
Blending into a society
A society that sees all
Until all have blended as one
Until one is accepted
As all.