Shackled to the accordion
Were my words for him,
Let alone my thoughts of oughts
Hid the mic from within.
Tossed into his world,
Stumbling upon my guts
Inquiring if it was enough
Or worthy to share with him.
He was the version of the song that I could never get right,
For fear that my chords could not vocalize the might with which he needed to be sung.
Air filling my chest
Never having met the
Breath that I could never catch from thoughts of him…
I was the universe but he was the space surrounding me;
I was the sun but he was beyond the planets clouding me;
I was the need for feeling
But he was the power caressing me.
So he stepped to me and taught me a song that I could forever sing freely…
And finally, both he and I could hear it.
He made me sing.