Choir
by Alisha Venters

Swelling.
Rising.
Perfect.
That one note rolls out of your chest,
And I am overcome;
By beauty,
By pride,
By love.
My lover, my angel
With the voice of a god.
And the song sweeps on
And carries me away.
You make love to my soul
And never even have to touch my flesh.


spring 2000 ] scribblings ] photographs ] artwork ] guidelines ] staff ] editors note ]

All artistic works and pieces Copyright 2000 their respective creators. 
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