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 tap and a string, a bow and a glass 
you pour me till the day has passed....