"When She Sings"

Her hair is like the hornet's nest,
in a good way I call her a bird,
who's voice ignites the roaring skies,
like spaces turning to snow intensified,
spectrum of magic defined and defied,
like a mathematician loving number disguised,
of heights down to up to down electrified,
it becomes of her who is of me synthesized,
the pitch makes vibration that cuts the souls,
like  tip of finger trying to cut itself as scrolls,
where a Gene comes and makes wishes abodes,
and down the dragon dwells in swiftness grooves,
when she sings heaven evokes and angels revolts,
lachrymose for not sadness but glimpses to divine,
here she goes, and the vibration starts to interwove,
and all becomes one single emptiness in cloaks of life !