you're a painting with symbols deep, symphony
soft as it shifts from dark beneath
a poem that flows, caressing my skin
in all of these things you reside and I
want you flow from the pen, bow and [bad word] with paper and string, and canvas tight
with ink in the air, to dust your light?
from morning to the black of night
 [bad word] 
this is my call I belong to You
this is my call to sing the melodies of You
this is my call I can do nothing else
I can do nothing else

you're the scent of an unfound bloom
a simple tune
I only write variations to sooth the mood
a drink that will knock me down to the floor
a key that will unlock the door
where I hear a voice sing familiar themes
then beckons me weave notes in between
a bow and a string, a tap and a glass
you pour me till the day has passed....