You Hold the Music in Your Hands

Sometimes there are voices
that snuggle into our brains
they are there when we sleep
return when we wake
as months go on
their pure tones ring
in some reminiscent place
that space
that can still feel the sunlight
still smell the skin
and feel the soft touch of
forehead to forehead
chlorophyll capsules
burst into life
the warmest of breezes
flows into the night 

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A voice that urges you to stand upon the widows walk, waiting for loves to return, from turbulent seas. It promises of summers heat and acoustic reverberations. Sangria in the grass, dandelion dreamers, fresh water screamers. love love love. Jo Cosgrove = heroine