
The heat shifts between rooms
from the front of the house, to the back
on the bed, your curled form is laid
I watch the sky as it cries in the street
blowing my nose, counting the people
they carry bags of food to their cars
filled with treats and sweet desserts
As I move to the kitchen, you stir for a second
this day is turning dark in the light from the loft
shadows dance, from the candles you lit
By the stove, I pause to warm my hands
not sure what to do, I don’t want to wake you
I sit back at the window, take up my book
but there are no new words to read and I place it back
if only the story would change of it’s own accord
O, I think it’s time for some movement
a raising of the silence, let the music in
just some small tune to warm this room
and your sweet progression of chords kissing my ears
I lie down beside you, cup your face
whisper some sickly greeting as you focus up on me
Come on love, we should make a song
you are the music and I am the words
you are the music and I am the words
we should make a song, my love
we should make a song
you are the music and I am the words
you are the prettiest music
and I am the most grateful words…
[2004]
Thanks for reading.
Wow!!
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Thank you, so pleased you liked! 🙂
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I do too!
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Ah thanks Peter! Sorry I don’t know why I didn’t reply to this comment before. I really appreciate your comment anyway 🙂
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Lovely!
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Thank you so much! That’s very kind. 🙏🏼
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Oh. You’re welcome Tom! 😊
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This is really good, you bring the simplest of actions to life in your writing x
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Ah thank you. I remember I wanted to create something quiet and peaceful and then fill it with music… 🙂 x
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