He draws the bow across the strings
slowly painfully sweetly.
Pulling sombre tones they glide through air
heavy with regret and longing.
Lost in the music.
His eyes, dark and beautiful, close.
He dreams and floats as he plays
and has no idea the silent tears he evokes in me,
as they roll down my face
slowly painfully sweetly.
Music painted on his arms,
music in his arms, in his heart;
he shares with me my sadness.
The beauty of strings and song.
The waves of sound and sorrow
meld into one,
and rise to the sky, to the moon
and the light of my beautiful man
slowly painfully sweetly.
Are you here H?
Can you feel me in the cellist’s song,
lost in the music?
And do you know my love lasts
forever in painted notes
slowly painfully sweetly.