Untitled: poem

If I’m not cringing at flat notes

retreating back into my skin

singing my own harmony

to wash away their sin

I am in awe

The depth of their voices

I am swimming in

milk and honey


This is what shall be sang

at the pearly gates

Oh the mastery of it all!

Di Vinci’s drawings

mapped out in notes

plucked by your fingers


you have the marks of craftsmanship

padded tips

on your left

strong nails

on your right

A gorgeous rhythm

your body convulsing

You are hypnotising to me


The utter funk in you

who takes my spark-like soul

and blows

until godly-flames consume



We are in church

We are in suits and dresses

and honouring what we know

Let me play for you



Em Humble

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