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Only he knows the right song to play.

He has music.

A weapon I can’t fight.

Difficult to find a defensive stance

when the assault is enveloping in just the right key and beat.

The song plays on, and beautiful wicked thing that I am,

I stay coiled in my skin,

and sway back and forth.

You can’t get angry,

when he is not the one playing with your soul.

The song played.

 It stimulated,

and

simulated,

that, fickle sweet sense

that drowns out logic

as well as a first glance would

or that elusive first kiss could.

He keeps his cool

She loses control.

All the songs sound better when you are next to me

He plays for the crowded room
in your mind, he only plays for you.

And the beat pours on.

 The horns blare and make my hips move

Invisible, audible lover

Can I keep your play list

If I can’t keep you?

 

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Comment by Aideed Medina on June 27, 2012 at 9:54am

la musica me envenena y me envuelve en dulces capas de miel.

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