Your touch gentle as a petal in the wind
Kisses soft as the morning sun rise
Slowly rising from the dust undisciplined
Bringing a comforting warmth to my thighs

Your smell familiar as a dream once dreamt
A sweet taste on lips kissing
Hands on my body gracefully you tempt
Long lasting moments of caressing

A love so kind, as a flowers tender touch
Leaves tumble outside tap tap tap as one
Tightly to you I clutch
Skin now hot like the risen sun

Burning the day in sweet harmony
Hips playing a perfect symphony

A scenic view of warmth and motion
A breeze swaying wild and free
Like a curling wave in the ocean
Holding on as an unripe fruit to a tree

A sunset slowly falling down
Releasing the day with a wink of light
Night settles on the ground
Your beauty is all I have in sight

Together we breathe in coexistence
Your touch more tender than anyone
Resting now with peace and silence
Calm night, for the day is done

I secretly hope
on the long nights when it feels like the sun will never beam on your face again
that
you'll think of me softly
I pray you'll imagine me reaching for your fingertips
lacing them with my own
maybe you'll remember
me grazing your cheek with the soft part of my small hands
scooping away the tears with my fingertips
doing my best to take all your sadness into my own palms
or my quiet kisses on your delicate cheek
the soft whispers of " I love you"'s and "don't give up on me"'s
the words that you didn't hear with your ears
the words that traveled in a straight shot to the inner workings of your brilliant heart
I hope on these nights
you remember who loves you most in this world
who always will
I hope for the better part of forever, I'm there with you
reminding you someone out there wants the same things you do
My last hope, is believing
that I can still keep you safe
that I'm still your refuge
when the air turns bitter

the devil played his music
and i sat front row through that symphony
ignoring the angelic choir behind me

I hear a song which colors Autumn.
It sings Creation's symphony,
Of days long past, or still to be,
Of what the Earth is to become.

It moves the air and paints the skies.
The waves crash with crescendos,
And with its trumpets, wind does blow.
The cellos play.  The eagle flies.

With violins the flowers bloom.
With piccolos the sparrow calls.
Like cotton snow, the music falls.
The drums begin. The mountains loom.

And when it seems the song will end,
In Winter's white and icy chill,
When all the world is calm and still,
The trumpets will begin again.

The nightingale’s
voice was the
song of the
moment of
when I opened
my eyes to the
light of what
I was once
unconscious
to, when
sunset
met with
moonrise,
In this
hour of
gentle
Idyll,
from the
voyage
& parting
of what
I have
known
before,
I now
become an
unconditional
part of your
heart, as
we held
stars in
our hands
closely
held,
our eyes
wandering
to their
shining
lives
as we
were
destined
to be, the
magic in
your soft
beauty,
what I
had been
seeking
all along,
past all
of these
waves
passing
on the
shore,
we hold
each
other
warm
with our
cups of
tea, as
I whisper
to you,
“hold me
closer,
dancer
of the
night,
for the
symphony
of our
union
Is the
answer
to the
question
of the
universe,
“what is
this truth
they have
told, that
I have failed
to see?”
as the bird
with the
velvet
song
flies
forever.

Symphony No. 2
in D major 4th Movement
this is my stomach