Boy with a Spanish Guitar
The audience murmurs; he tunes his guitar strings.
The lights slowly dim; and he's there in the spotlight
Surrounded by silence. His eyes are cast downward.
The melody flows and I'm suddenly falling
The way that he plays seems as natural as breathing
And breathing his music I dream
Of late-blooming orange groves,
Warm wind caresses
And a boy playing songs in that space in the day
Between daylight and evening.
Overhearing, I quietly steal closer; entranced by this
Boy with dark eyes and a spanish guitar.
His music, like sunlight, warms me and wakens me.
Ripples of notes like soft whispers at dusk.
Echoes and harmonies play in my memory,
Slowly unfolding like petals in shade.
What is this magic that flows through your fingertips
Boy with dark eyes and a spanish guitar?
Warm afternoons slowly drifting towards evening,
Boys that I kissed (and the ones I did not),
Lips and bare skin and the scent of the orange groves,
Slow falling blossom and fumbling bees.
Though I don't know you I'm falling in love with you
Boy with dark eyes and a spanish guitar.
Sweetly seduced by this honey of fantasy,
Waked by your playing and lulled by the dark.
Barely aware of the people surrounding me,
Only my breathing, your music, my heart.
Willingly drowned in the dream of your melody,
Boy with dark eyes and a spanish guitar.
July 2003
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