Music is soft sheets
still in the quietness of sleep
with two bodies of potential music,
a morning heartbeat, a tender breath,
and the rise and fall of a sleeping chest.
There is music of possibility
like slippers dragging
across a wooden floor
to a shower’s hard stream,
an occasional sigh, harmonizing
through a soapy mist,
with yesterday’s songs
hip hopping down a long drain
of ageless, desirable music.
Shawn R. Jones