And Pears and Plums

 

Some chords remind me of your tongue,  
the way you inhale air  
between your teeth and out of your nose,  
smoke  
 
revealing,    
 
as if you were made of lava,  
while I was born at sea.  
 
Those elevated moments sit    
as cathedrals unfinished,    
paths unwalked,  
unlit by lamplight,    
scrutinised  
from balcony perches  
where half faces are seen, scuttling,    
in half cut moonlight.  
 
I tap my bare feet,    
as if I've known the songs that play,  
virginly heard, lifetime long,    
on and on  
in a time we couldn't escape.  
    
You're in those low toned spaces.  
A beast
tethered to them.  
We acknowledge each other, homing,  
between high notes and pauses and like great winter birds we're free-er  
there.  
 
Written on the fly to Bassti's Oranges in Winter and Eileen Ivers' Apples in Winter  
 
https://youtu.be/KgMfjC7OBd8  
and https://youtu.be/K6RcTSbcsw0