Hard hot metal turns to soft flesh breathing,
the sultry whisper purr of the saxophone,
echoing off a lover's moon, like
the sound of marigolds swaying
in an indigo breeze,
and this passion cannot be contained,
it holds, it caresses, it gently
knocks a hole in the sky, it blows
the opaque ceiling off this moment,
and the cool fire burns, even when
the music has faded and all is dark and still,
and we are drifting dreamward.
