I. Sun-Song Stuck

A song is stuck somewhere between my heart
and the tip of tongue behind my lips.
Its melodies refuse to fall apart;
They'd rather strangle me than make the trip.
So I fall into tight harmonic pain
away from rhythm dance and wait to heal
and speculate: Does music yet remain?
In spite of balm, burns always itch and peel.
This radiation never crossed my mind
while I basked in your sudden, easy glow.
Those waves of sound and light surreal, sublime
escaped my skin; alleviation's slow.
For prickles of my unemployed desire
won't let my heart forget your tunes of fire.


II. Appendages

These were the leftover phrases and words,
a sonorous and unprotected groove,
The unattached reverberations heard
beyond condensed and creamy memories' smooth
refusal to subordinate themselves
to other thoughts and to immediate tasks.
These are the lines that delectably fell
and would not soothe by being shelved to fast.
Your thrilling, vibrant flavor was the heat,
the flames that licked away my strong defense,
exposed my heart unintentionally;
delicious moments rendered crimson skin.
But lyric freedom is forever mine,
and inspiration, artistry, and time.