Jukebox

I guess I never really understood the power of music.
Music meaning the sum total of meter, rhythm, melody, lyrics, instruments, vocals.
Every note a new heart stopping vibration touching the sinews of my soul.
Intention, motivation, desire wrapped around, into and through a simple lyric.
The soul of a cello, the siren song of a flute, the silence between the notes full of anticipation and fulfillment.
The hum of my computer hard drive, powering up when I send some “e”.
iTunes playing the latest in my “you’ve got to listen to this!” list.
Movement in the air from the Vornado on the far side of the room adding not just background noise, but ambience to every sound, thought, feeling.

My desk vibrates with the pounding subwoofer found lying on the floor, its base elements beating in my chest.
Keyboards and fingers, drumsticks and guitars, symbols, congas, altos and bases, long soul-full moans and tight fisted high notes.
It may be all in the mix, but for me it is a singular driving force that makes me think of you.

Melody.
The essence of the lyrics, and I can’t escape the emotion of wanting you more than ever before.
Closing my eyes only enhances the desire.

I can’t sleep because I dream of you.
I can’t eat because I’m not with you.
I can’t work because I find myself wanting to be with you.
The hours drag by until I can see you smiling at me again.

So what do I do?
I put another quarter in the Jukebox.

Swept away into a mystical far away place and suddenly we are … together.
Do you know what time it is?

It’s time to put another quarter in… the Jukebox.

Faces

faces

The smile.
The frown.

Sadness.
Disbelief.

Comprehension.
Fear.

Doubt.
Peace.

Just a few of the faces I’ve seen.
All coming from one set of muscles designed to demonstrate unlimited tales of emotion.

The face.
Yours is beyond beautiful.

The lines of time in all the right places, enhancing your glow, casting spells on all who care to see.  The eyes, nose, cheeks, lips all perfectly placed, what a marvelous creation.

Each expression a diamond mine to explore until time is no more.
And even then, there would be no end to the joy that is your face.

Mine seems to be one dimensional compared to yours.
I lack the luster, and grace of the excitement of your eyes.

My nose just sits there whether I talk or listen.
Yours with all it’s tiny curls and twitches brings brilliance to every laugh, drama to every tear.

My lips too long have drawn taunt with frustration, anger, depression.
Yours always inviting conversation and the taste of life and love.

Why is it that women’s faces are always so beautiful, and men’s always so worn and chiseled?  It doesn’t seem fair until I realize one simple truth.

Men were never intended to look into mirrors.
They were created to look into the divine and bring him glory.

And to facilitate that end, God in his infinite wisdom gave man the greatest of all gifts.
The faces of the woman he loves.