Sweetheart, make the music stop.
Darling, take the strings off your guitar.
Oh my angel, never sing me a lullaby
because I don't want to fall asleep.
Hold my hand and stroke my thumb
but please don't hum
me a melody.
Write me symphonies
and I promise to admire the way
the little black dots
stretch across the little black lines
and that will be enough.
Stifle one sense to strengthen the rest,
so they say,
and so I think,
so let me taste your lips
and let me smell your sweat
and let me feel your heat and
let me just look at the notes lined up
on their thin little train tracks
but please do not make me listen to them.
Rest your chin in the curve of your guitar
and rest your arm in the curve of my waist
but do not sing me a lullaby
didn't you hear I wanted to be awake for this.
Fumble your fingers with those little bits of wire
and don't you mind that my mind is on fire
just thinking of where those fingers could be.
Sit across the piano on the bench
made for one but don't you forget
the love seat in the corner was made for duets
with the notes on the tracks
twice as tall, neatly stacked.
Take your feet off the pedals, just for a moment,
put them flat on the floor
and please go shut the door
I want more
I need less
get me out of this mess
get your notes off the tracks
take your instruments back.
Sweetheart, don't ask me to play.
Darling, don't ask me to sing.
Just let me bring
a piece of the quiet that I used to know
into your music and we'll decrescendo.