Wednesday, November 3, 2010

words and sounds

I was always just the words and sounds
he used to drown the music out.
The sacrificial tree to bridge the stream
so he wouldn’t have to get his feet wet.
The gloves he wore against the biting cold.
The bed he lay in as he drifted off to sleep.
The piano where he pounded out his masterpieces
on my unresisting keys.

But I am not the words and sounds
The sacrificial tree
The gloves
The bed
Or his piano keys

I am the woman who will sing you to sleep
who will hold your hand as we splash through the stream
and warm you with my own body heat
who will lie tangled in your sheets
and listen to you gently breathe.

Let me be part of your symphony

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