Phonograph

Malicious threads of blissful
Sounds of sorrowful
Melodies play softly in transparent waves of fresh
Air.

Your worldly travels are consumed of stories,
Filled with mischief and deceit, have blossomed off of the
Map that is hung by thumbtacks against my wall become
Fiction.

Although there have been biographies of authors
All too many who are unfortunately unknown of any past loved
Young frat boy studying literature at the near by university
Recognizes.

But I have set up a table of granite
Waiting upon your arrival above of all imagery
Your face reflected by my mirror is of utter beauty
Unfathomed.

Never have I realized of such clear
Thought that has awoken me of presence and
Awareness of what is to be of our route to be but will never be
Taken.