Where is that delicate line that exists between creation of an art – music, drawing, writing – and romantic love? Does it exist at all?
Hearts and Hammers
Set me free
Chocolate mahogany.
I long for your ivory skin,
But all you ever give me
Are these useless fragments.
You say,
“Stitch them together,
I know they fit.”
But how do I stitch together sounds
With just my fingers?
And when I leave, to journey far,
What can I take with me?
Memories, just as invisible
As your echoes
And as the black marks I have left
On this page for you
In a moment of confusion.
But I keep coming back to you
And your familiar, smooth-flowing
And beautiful reveries of poetry.
I’ll always respond in fantasies and cycles of reveries.
I adore your beauty
And how you are filled
With joy ever time I want
To make love.
The way you sigh and moan
Beneath my fingers is all
The spark my ardor needs
For hours.
I know your sweet notes,
And know they are always there for me,
Except those rare, stubborn stuck moments
Which take my gentle hand to giggle the key.
I let my knowing hands smooth
Your willful ways until our voices
Can fly through stars again.
You’re always willing to listen
And even when I am unable to speak
You’ll sing my tired tears to sleep.
Dear one, I love you so.
Even though I’m leaving you soon,
I’ll think of you often,
I love to sing with you, dear Stella,
The way our voices resonate together.
As we lean close, never quite touching
Except through haunting melodies,
We dance through the air.
My love, I know we haven’t been together long,
And all I long for is hours by your side,
But I must leave soon.
My hands will be occupied
By holding the road
And squeezing the miles through my finger tips.
Sweet one, I know after my road reveries
I will be different. I will feel new
As my hands flow over your keys
~ how could I possibly stay the same?
After all, my feet will stir air in circles
As I fly through foreign fields,
And my hands will wield tools
Made to change the shape of the earth.
But I promise you this,
My fingers will occupy themselves
Each night with writing riddles
Of thoughts of you.
And my voice will be endlessly singing
To you – sending cycles of sound back to you,
In this home we’ve made together.
Endlessly yours, until the end of the road,
When my cycle brings me back to embrace your resonance,
~ Your Lover