Franchesca Poem by Joen Coronel

Without rest, perhaps without pauses or stops
As he tickles her strands with timely drops
Gold, her hair, milk, her skin
Down to her body, smooth and thin

Most of the time, she sleeps by his side
Forget about the blanket that's open wide
Weekdays, he's alone in a white prism
Bored and forsaken, just alive in rhythm

She can't talk nor cry, she knows nothing
But she's not deaf nor ignorant in feeling
She's special in her own unique way
In her angelic lullaby that no one could ever play

Sweet melody, flowing through his ears
Symphony, that's the only one he hears
She always loves to whistle, as he caresses her body
Tempo, beat, hands strum so moody

He summons her into his arms
To hear his beats and charms
Only a time when he misses erstwhile Andrea
To get his guitar embraced in warmth named Franchesca.