I love how your long hair sunfalls over
your back as you sit before me, how each
highlight’s rippling wave lets me discover
new depths of your beauty. I long to reach
and touch you, but know better. Choose instead
silent songs to you, music deep within.
Smile softly when you turn and smile, your head
nodding, your profile Rodin’s temptation.
Eight hours later, I watch “Jimi Hendrix:
Electric Church”. Feel us there: glowing stars
in Atlanta’s thick July dark, transfixed
by his piercing howl-owl-owling guitar.
Now, late night Friday. Chopin’s nocturne flares
the dark. I reach out, touch your sunfall hair.
Roger Armbrust
January 15, 2015
