Sinatra When In Love Poem by Christopher J. Grasso

Crash of hearts and percussion,
Love as painful as a quarterback concussion,
Rising crescendo of sweltering thoughts rushes,
Anticipation of compliments are reddening blushes.

Tapping triple feel of the drummer’s cymbal,
Snapping fingers steal the reputation of a man made nimble,
Trapping a backbeat real, his problems as small as a thimble,
Swinging seasons repeal his former darker days no longer to conceal.

The bass bounces rhythm such as his chest,
To spend a lifetime of compatibility is an idea he will certainly invest,
An interlude between a kiss has his soul in vocal protest
The new crackling sunrise illuminates his horizons before he could guess -

Why?
Has he been blessed?

The big band boots in from behind,
No longer a face amongst the mists to find,
As attached to her as the orange is to the rind,
Sweet, juicy sensitivity in the presence of her sunshine.

Hovering heavy horns hound harmony hastily,
Governing her gentle form fills his humility,
Recovering the rapid score mandates his calmed tranquility,
Discovering a love evermore, the unwrapped present torn to reveal respectability.

So, as the music thins away and Sinatra’s sad voice goes,
Blow out the candles of another day of slow perfect rainbows,
Overflowed and pulled into the comfort of her undertow,
Know that his strength is her love, a love which continues to grow -

Even though,
He has no idea why he’s been blessed.