There is music in the words you speak
from sunset to sunrise.
As I set myself down
to listen
to what sounds like John Coltrane's
Blue Train-with a slow incline
to a destination-Where?
I could not tell you
But
I 
want to stay on and find out your destination,
Because you see at sunrise
when the spoken word ended,
I would also rise
And
no longer did it sound like a blues' train
for destination did not matter.
But more like-It never entered my mind.
A love jones that played in my heart
And
I 
could not wait to hear at sunset
your words
Poetic
all to familiar
my "language"
your "dialect"
dropping
like morning dew
flowing
Prophetic
like words of 
Allah
Sometimes searching
and I too search
for these are your words spoken
my interpretation
my music