There are definitely certain acoustics involved with faces,
like the spoon tapping a wine glass. Sharp,
echoey with softness just before sundown.

It is there I find a man walking toward somebody he feels –
a woman who makes him know the place he’s from (where
         musicians
play with fire, then drink it to understand it).
                                                  The sound
on his face a snare drum and cello, or so she says. His
         reply
purple, orange just before sundown. Just before a foreign
         laughter
shared between fingertips.