Poem with no form, but some eighth notes

Hearing notes in my head
Soaring, soaring
Audiation of
Brilliant white, gold

Hearing chords in my mind
Running, running
Pigmentation of
Blooming pure sound

I hear those triplets
Calling, cycling
Down a brick road
Of sevenths

I hear a leading tone
Aching, yearning
To meet up with its
Love next door

Just a whirling line
All of it mine
Keeping time
In my mind

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