Melody of a Heart

Her soul fluttering in time,
To the pulse of his guitar.
Evidently it's unknowingly sublime,
To descend too fast- so far.


Disquiet tensions become unwound,
A hushed altercation she has inside.
To the movement of his sound,
She chases the course on which his fingers glide.


To never have known him such as this,
Is to never have known her own hands.
His strumming is the most tender kiss,
Passionately caressing as on her very soul,
it shimmers and lands.


Tears unfold themselves upon a cheek,
Tearing her very fabrication apart.
What of this great love that he speaks?
Divinely it is wound within his instrument,
Within her heart.