Dark eyes beneath black hair match
The midnight forever on your face.
The sorrowed, solemn beauty of heartbreak
Rarely broken by a sunlit smile.
The others watch you,
Eager admiration in their eyes,
And see the notes executed in time,
Played out in perfect tune.
I see the measures, ribbons of music
That you pull from your soul;
They float from the resonating wood
And etch their rhythms into my ribs.
The others see your perfect posture,
Straight spine, lifted chin,
Shoulders set squarely as you sit,
Your feet rooted to the stage.
But I see your frame shake
As you hunch over the strings,
In pain and joy expressed, released
From the cage of your chest.
I watch and question whether
You need the pages
Of black lines and dots
To make my soul shiver.
You need only sit as you do,
Bow poised over string, silent,
Reveling in the other side of sound,
And my strength melts, my bones ache.
Is this simply a flight of fancy
Induced by a thirty measure rest?
During which my eyes unwillingly
Journey across the theater to you.
