How can this be beautiful?

I can feel your breadth
against my words of protest.
You are that good.

And I would wait and listen
for as long as it took,
to tell me the bad news.

From you, it flows sweetly
and showers over me; and I'm soaked
in despair. But:

It still sounds like music,
I close my eyes to feel
the vibrations, my head bobs
slowly left to right, my fingers
conduct an orchestra of strings.

They crescendo,
then are gone,
and so are you.

Your goodbye hangs in my ears
like a lovely overtone.