Signs of your hand,
Each breath a motion.
Your hair,
In tangles,
Silhouetted against the
Backdrop of your genius.
Little children
Fly through empty heights
Hunting for their next delight.
Echoing around your feelers,
Friendly glowing lights
Inviting me to come.
They're singing for you,
My love,
These tiny bow-legged brothers.
They fill in notes I forget,
Taking up my stolid slack.
The whole orchestra crescendos
And while I sit,
Eaten alive,
Your gentleness surrounds me.
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