Singing like a huffing harmonica, pecking at a piano with a keyboard that hits the high notes and descends into low guttural sounds that are soothing sounds, dignified sounds, a cantor that sings in heavenly gasps to accompany my many moments of silence with the sounds of an angel.
Heaving in hard breaths, calling to and counting the Stars of David in the sky and sweetly beckoning to them to guide me in my dreary darkness, as they shine on stones on my pebbly path, walking with the moonbeams and dancing to the rhythm of the Cantor's handsomeness.
Calling to you in the dark to call away werewolves.
Wreaking with rhythms and with merry melodies, tripping on shining black leather boots as he dances his way into your heart from a stance of straightness.
Singing to me, only to me, opening the gates of Heaven with his vocal chords, crying in comforting calls of healing painlessness, courting me as a Sabbath bride when I hug my headphones.
Showering candy upon his path, chocolate kisses of kindness.
Higher and higher his voice calls to the G-d in the Heavens and to me as his doting observer, singing with him and being of him as he calls to me for me, to lullaby me to sleep and then to wake in the morning hours.
To sing all day, everyday, hearing him hovering above my head in happiness, singing sweetly sharing songs with the angels.
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