sestina

The strings tremble while the song
comes soaring out of his guitar.
A crease forms between his eyes
as he watches his dancing hands.
The breeze comes and lifts his curls
and I shiver in his worn sweater.

The fraying edges of his sweater
sway with the wind's silent song.
The dry leaves fly in curls,
up and over the old guitar.
The chilled air forces my hands
into my pockets, below the button eyes.

I slowly close my eyes
and wrap them in the sweater
while his ever-working hands
continue playing the familiar song.
"He's always comfortable with his guitar,"
I grin, silently. His sepia curls

happily tangle with the curls
of the leaves. His chocolate eyes
nervously glance at me. His guitar
holds his attention, but the sweater
I'm wearing makes him pause the beautiful song.
I gaze up as the clouds form hands

around the sun. I feel his cool hands
on my face and I'm drowning in warm curls.
Suddenly, there is no sweet song
but I close my satisfied eyes.
"I'm comfortable", sings the sweater
to the happily resting guitar.

There's still a melody without the guitar.
My anxious fingers find his dancing hands
and pull them towards the sweater.
He gracefully pushes back the curls
to expose the happy chocolate eyes
and my heart continues its song.

His dancing hands still hold the worn sweater,
the sepia curls still bounce happily above the guitar,
and our comfortably locked eyes will forever sing our song.