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caleab

Thirty-two

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I'm the one she stared at as she beat the drum with one hand and played chords on the piano with the other. The purple and gold shown brighter this evening while her eyes swept the aduience and her voice confiscated all thought. A whistle, a line, shouts, quips that lent nothing but pure pleasure to the cavity of the hall. I waited for her smile again; it was all that I had left to remember the first time I heard her sing to me. And this, this complex phenomenon, like black the culmination of every color, drained itself into my soul until I ran to the cafe to tell others what I had heard. My muse, my Fortuna was gracious enough to unfold her banner here in my town and play for me.

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I'm the one she stared at as she beat the drum with one hand and played chords on the piano with the other. The purple and gold shown brighter this evening while her eyes swept the aduience and her voice confiscated all thought. A whistle, a line, shouts, quips that lent nothing but pure pleasure to the cavity of the hall. I waited for her smile again; it was all that I had left to remember the first time I heard her sing to me. And this, this complex phenomenon, like black the culmination of every color, drained itself into my soul until I ran to the cafe to tell others what I had heard. My muse, my Fortuna was gracious enough to unfold her banner here in my town and play for me.

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