Celestial curtains cover him

with a design of plenty.

He breathes alive the bass,

jazzing the room with

engine pulsing sounds.


His hair is black and thick,

like obsidian crystals

crushed from stars.

The beauty of his face

and voice release like

midnight bats

carving the sky.

Highways of angels

step up,

securing a spot,

each welcoming the

presence of a soul with gift

melting out strong.

He strikes the notes.

The strings slip back

a respect with sound

blessing him.

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