Infatuation Melodious

All that ever is

Delights with a crown

Of cloud across my mind,

Where there was a message,

Passed through the motif,

Now lies just the echo,

A passing recollection of sensibility.

Words are simply not enough,

Neither do they have an end.

Each tune on his lips is a musical kiss,

Forwarding Glory;

Every smile is canvas sky,

Spreading like the stereotype:

Giggles through the corridor,

Tingling from fingertips,

As they glide across keys,

When the crescendo hits,

Unlocking the introduction,


Why be shy

When his flush-red grows a tone

When it collides with mine,

Key-change harmonious,

Just like the soprano-tenor reflection,

Woven through a pact;

Surely only the soloist remains?

There contains the pace,


And the thrum of life is obvious,

Beating through

Patchwork memories,

Succinct clothes,

Mere doorway to what should be,

What will become

In that passionate advance,

In his tight-fitting observation,

Enough to satisfy-

Enough to write another melody up high.

Love having turned the blood

To wine, milk-white wine,

It itself dishes up a newer act,

Movement to theatre major,

One last instrument to play alone,

As the heat lingers

Amongst every little piece,

Staccato and legato together,

Of his presence,

There the surrounding warmth,


Line against line.

The End

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