Last Sung

Voice holding you; mouth like a mirror
That you look into as it grasps you
Feel it as it slows to that note that pulls
The chord that strokes downwards
Like a patient fold that leaves a straight crease
Where leaves the echo built with tempo
That can downy into soul three tones smoothing
Each other's difference past tune
To be part of the piece
That brings you back to being the there
Left with echo mellowed into the sung of song.