You're a painting with symbols deep, symphony
soft as it shifts from  dark beneath 
a poem that flows, caressing my skin 
in all of  these things you reside and I 
want you flow from the pen, bow and  brush 
with paper and string, and canvas tight 
with ink in the  air, to dust your light? 
from morning to the black of night 
I can do nothing else 
You're  the scent of an unfound bloom 
I only write  variations to sooth the mood 
a drink that will knock me down to the  floor 
a key that will unlock the door 
where I hear a voice sing  familiar themes 
then beckons me weave notes in between 
a tap and  a string, a bow and a glass 
you pour me till the day has passed....