Discord is a frenzy of your movement or the disquiet in my limbs
As notes pour and converse with your or mine
Or it or who.
Black and white is filled with greys and brights
Colour and movement and melodious sight.
Circular light is nothing without these eyes.
Waiting for the next touch is a caress to the ground
Jabbing or subtle dancing of finger upon finger.
The repetition drowns the imagination and jars at my irritation
But the blinking lid opens and flows off into sporadic dreams.
Translate into words without speech and stop waiting.
My ears are a window into what could be the strands of being.
The purpose to absorb something and disarm the present.
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