Word Winding

attempting to spin cacophony into sanity

Sung moonlight

Voices call, frolic, caress
Lyric vines twine, then pull free after just
The right amount of dissonance.
Songs bud, blossom, petals collapse
One flung after the other in a spectacle of careless exuberance
To tease the composer, intrigue the poet, rile the critic
Warm the senses.

All, ultimately, a prelude.

Steel core bound in a braid of purest silk, at last unleashed
Pure love, dressed in too-brief song, rendering
Any words, any notes
Moonlight.

Blessed be the ear, so nearly drowning.

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