impressions in ivory

a voice between
air and molasses,
sliding slowly down
a board
(- keyed & fretting)
. . . like falling angels.
a soundscape
for the third ear.
and you tap into divinity,
a rhythm-rhyming with
hums
. . . staccato lining legatos
and waiting for the fall.
cascade of the blue-violet-silver whispered
diaphanous
washing down a
background-black.
surreal daydream;
truth-telling night terror
. . . a steadfast confession
for which we beg
"more."
and emulation is sweet;
bittersweet,
bitten into lips
suffering from withdrawal. . .
far from the purity of the corrupt,
closer to the act of descension

written by beth