Strike
Saturday, December 07, 2002 | comments (0)
I watch you striking the chords - striking me. The way you move. My words are imperfect. Flashes. The blue, red, white. The light. Flashes. On your face. Dark eyes. On. Off.
You strike the chords. Strike me. Reconcile. This.
The rhythm tight, drums. And the lights in syncopation.
The look on your face. Concentrating. Lost. Swept away. Strike. Me. Your hand. Strumming.
There is something in it. Your look. Draws me in. Magnetic comes to mind. Eyelash closing comes to mind. A look. Like a photo. Capture it. Open. Strike. Shutter. Like a thought. The rhythm . Intoxicating. Your eyes. Flash. Cheek. Flash. Dark. Me.
Imperfect language to describe it. What is the charisma?
Is it the word 'glint?' Is it your eyes? Blink.
Sideways smile? Slant, rather. Flirt?
Do I find meaning in these words? Something awful is what I speak. Something terrible in the way it unfolds.
Strike.
link to this | comments (0) | File: Music Writing
You strike the chords. Strike me. Reconcile. This.
The rhythm tight, drums. And the lights in syncopation.
The look on your face. Concentrating. Lost. Swept away. Strike. Me. Your hand. Strumming.
There is something in it. Your look. Draws me in. Magnetic comes to mind. Eyelash closing comes to mind. A look. Like a photo. Capture it. Open. Strike. Shutter. Like a thought. The rhythm . Intoxicating. Your eyes. Flash. Cheek. Flash. Dark. Me.
Imperfect language to describe it. What is the charisma?
Is it the word 'glint?' Is it your eyes? Blink.
Sideways smile? Slant, rather. Flirt?
Do I find meaning in these words? Something awful is what I speak. Something terrible in the way it unfolds.
Strike.
link to this | comments (0) | File: Music Writing
