Melting Time Sculpture taken by Black Coffee Blue Jeans
This was written for the Monday Mural Prompt on Poefusion. Enjoy.
Your voice is a soft bed with clean
sheets. I can sleep in it. I can dream
in it. I could drift away in the sea of
your songs, the currents of your sonic
Your voice gives me chills. Nightmares
and dreams in stereophonic luster playing,
bitter and sweet traveling through
Your voice makes my heart bleed. It stops
clocks. It makes angels pause and men
cry. It makes the Universe
and hang there, suspended, warbling.
Your voice is a footprint stamped onto
time itself, static – yet it stretches even
beyond the borders of the time-space
continuum and mocks the idea that
it could ever be restrained by our
asinine notion of containing moments,
people, and voices inside clocks and
Your voice hangs on my ears. I wear
your lyrics for earrings. Diamonds
stand and scream in envy of the sight.
They know that they could never hope
to compete with the resplendent beauty
of your words hanging on my ears.
Your voice sometimes encircles my
neck with icy fingers, choking me
with surprise at your dark emotions
and images but leaving me breathless,
panting, wanting more – and I am a
masochist to the core. I cannot stop
Your voice has launched countless
ships of fools – motley poets, song
writers, and bands who hear the siren
song of music, beauty, and pain. They
launch their stars into the night sky,
adding to yours and growing into
wickedly wild sparkling constellations.
And I send up my star along with them.
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.