by sugarcoatedprincess

To see her paint upon the ivories,
Or to compose upon a canvas,
Orchestrate the colours,
Layer all the tones and shades,
She, oh she, could draw a song,
And she does, before my eyes,
A march of the penguins theme,
A twinkling, gilded score,
Bejewelled with sharps and hues,
Emotions poured and mixed,
Played and re-sculpted,
Darned and woven,
Folded around our shoulders,
A silken piece of clothing,
Decked in fine colours,
Arranged with depth and warmth,
It’s freeing to be here with her.