"covered" a poem in free verse

In drapes of my mouth,
the bass of the guitar,
I can't speak,
I fall on the essence,
of his voice.
I am weak,
to suspense,
of his wakeful ears,
that are covered,
over me.
Invented seed,
that we sow,
on the drop of a note,
to tell of our souls.

I can't speak,
as I'm speechless,
my hands write,
what I hear,
from his voice,
that sprinkles,
over my hearth,
of which,
I light a candle,
in which we see,
the glow,
that Kurt was to be,
in advance he told us,
while we were blind,
to the capo,
that he chose,
for us to find.

I am covered in his memory,
my hands keep writing,
to hear,
what he had to play,
on the true hands,
of his Epiphany,
stored deep inside to see,
NIRVANA.