The Process

Glaring emeralds born from bass.

The glow on this display feels like the flesh and stubble on your face.

Swirling grain that tastes like whiskey.

And just looking at it fills me up- like the way you’d say you missed me.

The way the switch flips smells like a storm before and after.

And when it queues to my phone it sounds like your laughter.

Your charm, a dead ringer for the next song ahead.

I can feel you the room, if only between the frets.

I crave that vibe- so tart... then sweet.

And I like the way the lyrics make me feel you at my feet.

Then there’s the tension between my fingers and lever,

It flows like our bodies forever ravaged in fever.