Well, did you know that your eyes are mighty beacons?
Great flickering flames of an artist's soul?
Did you know that when I saw you first I felt you, wildly?
Felt a gentle steward of poems among us, a river voice renews.

One utterance from you has me above my tiny tempests,
I've been pleading, even prayed (though out of practice) for more words,
But your words, only your voice! Which has me falling into tension,
And godsent, glorious tension ensues from your stark frequencies.

Rejoice, I do now rejoice and it feels like for the first time,
Surely not? And you can't know but I just cried for our distant meeting,
It is as though a veil is lifted, a dam destroyed, a collapsed ceiling?
But now a fear, such a quiet terror that I may not hear you again.

Desperate, so agonisingly glutted with yearning,
Yearning to hear my voice and to know that it resounds,
So roundly that I am all at once myself, And so much myself that I remember my eyes,
My eyes that have long been forgotten in cruel glass.
Cruel, cruel glass! I have long been abandoned, and long been a veil,
But such a thin veil that always would wane,
It's falling slowly now, like a prophecy fulfilled,
Get ready to see, get ready to be seen.

"Hold you birds your silver throats, His golden voice I'm seeking"

See,
your voice
your smooth rasping voice
lulls me to sleep

Oh,
    to fall asleep
        in the cozy little caves
        in the valleys
        in the landscape
        of your voice

    to cover the glass, of my
        darkened
        distressed
        debilitated
        eyes
        with the drapes of your voice

    to cover the skin, of my
        caving
        crying
        chilling
        body
        with the quilt of your voice

When someone’s voice
becomes
your favorite
auditory hallucination.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5qxOrziiQzg&ab_channel=J%CE%9BM

Margy shouts her advice from outside Greggs
unsolicited, but often needed
usually it concerns fashion
- the choice of a scarf
- inappropriate shoes for the weather
- or the state of a pair of trousers, hanging and baring a cleavage
(“No one wants to see that, dear.”)

Margy can be relied upon to wear the same distinct socks
– draped around her stocking feet, their multi-coloured design now greyed
by wear and the Uxbridge Road.

Margy is more reliable than her friends and she tells them as much
(“You’re all a bunch of time wasters.”)
demanding more loyalty and demands from me enough for a cup of tea
- a very expensive one apparently.

And on a Sunday, she’ll kneel and pray throughout the early Eucharist,
declining the bread and wine
(”On, no dear.  It’s not a habit I want to cultivate.”)

Falling slowly,
Through eyes that know me
I can't go back

Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react

And events that never
Amount to more than they're meant will always play themselves out

I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that

Take this sinking boat
and point it home
We've still got time

We would create beautiful memories
Even through sad ones
If we hold hands

Raise your hopeful voice
And make a choice
I know you will...

#Love
#elspirito