There are just some songs that sing of you--
Like one of those summer nights,
Alone and quiet and quite happy
(In that purely Summer way
When bee buzzes and bird hums
Turn into a dialectic of our memories).
A song holds fast to my ear
From a place far away--
It finds me in the breeze
(The breeze that is older than Rome;
And, I assume, if this particular breeze
Did not echo through some Ancient Roman ear,
It may have blown through yours
Earlier this evening).
I sing the song is eternal,
And it sounds lovely in my mouth
And feels delicious on my lips
(Because it tastes like you).