He is the blank verse in the
confusing crowd of lines,
Casting off the limits, without
meter nor rhyme,
Speaks of conflicts, metaphors
filled with signs,
Paints romance and passion
in sequential mime.
He is the melody in the middle of
voicing and hum,
Among the bass and beats of lonely
plucking and strum,
And so his sound lingers as mellow
as his touch,
A silent musical rendition to my heart,
through my heart.
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