Chaconne Ground in D Minor Remix (after Purcell)

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun

Coral is far more red than her lips’ red

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head

I have seen roses damask’d, red and white

But no such roses see I in her cheeks

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound

I grant I never saw a goddess go

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare

When I look in my lady's eyes

I am surprised I have no divine lines to intertwine with rhymes

We walk under moon, lit by night

I don't dare compare her beauty to such

Her touch rises my spirit as we walk through streets

Expanding like maps where no comparison can meet, no trap can greet

But I feel when we walk under rain, under moon, under sun

It is simply your hand, the touch of your skin

The way your smile cracks open my soul

But even that is too flowery, devour me

There are no words that can capture the rapture

As we gaze each other but it is simple moments

It is sweat, breath, life, love, motion, devotion

And yet it is simple

It is the freedom to cry, to dream, to speak, to hear your truth

To hear your voice, your melody, your song

But it is actually the simplicity of your words

And the way that I can be vulnerable and truly myself

That allows me to know and taste what love is

A love that is rare and beyond compare