pure, like snow, only it's your music.

in the dimmest half-light
it's just enough to see
you asked for it to be
darker
darker
darker still
now it's dark enough
and the ringing of
the higher keys on
the baby grand
and the delicate plucking
all over the neck
of that electric guitar
is like our own private carnival
only it's a church, here
with those notes sustained
the air is ringing
long after your hands
reached for the drink
sitting in front of you,
forming dewy rings on the wood -

there's something
pure and powerful
about tonight.

I saw what you looked like
when you threw tantrums
at the age of five
mop of hair across your
forehead
being as loud as
it would let you be
like you were
screaming
with your hands
just then -

cheeky schoolboy
comes through the car stereo
bold and sure
like a radio station
your lips pressed softly
to the heart of everything
we're capable of hearing
in this dark red light
tonight.