Your song is all around me.
I taste it on my skin.
I can drink in your scent
all the while my eyes are closed.

A nocturne that evokes in me
the sadness of a hope
that longs for what is past,
and therefore cannot be.

A quiet song whose climax
truly never came to be.
I yearn so for the words
that I sense with my entirety.

I’ll write poetry for your song
and it will wait for your music.
That which I heard with my heart
and saw in the depths of my soul.