Sometimes, I want the music

Sometimes, I want the music

that lies against my skin like silk.

Cool, soft, there but not there.

I can keep moving, in fact

I have to move.

Or I want the music

that snaps sharp like canvas.

Arcs, kicks, flashes.

It moves me

like a shock.

Sometimes I want the music

that covers me like lambswool,

warm, soft and calm.

Its substance lies in the pauses.

the silence between notes,

the air between threads.

I move, but slowly.

And sometimes . . .

Sometimes I want the music

I feel in my chest,

like a clenched fist.

and like a fist,

It demands.