it's late. a quiet night in,
the pin-drop silence of
the last night before
our performance.
we delve deep into
music i already know
by heart by now,
flying across the
landscape of notes
together, and of course,
there is no question:
we are masterfully sublime.
you smile at me from
the other side of the room,
and god, all i want
is to cross this
meagre distance
between us and
kiss the joy off your mouth.
maybe then i'll be able to
keep some of it for later,
when the morning comes again.
— paganini jingle bells
YOU ARE READING
tessitura
Poetryit's the way they serenade each other. [ a collection of twoset poems ]
