Poetry

Piano

Without the ability to play,
she became his piano.
Possibility of coming back to life,
the union of black and white.
Yin yang, heart and mind.
White keys, along with black,
the perfect combination.
Chords marked on her skin.
He played on her body with touches.
The music was becoming louder,
but there was silence, in the room.
His fingers were moving deep under her skin,
he composed the melodies.
She wanted to hear him play.
She had no idea that she would
become his favorite instrument,
his urge to breathe.
Through the melody of gravity
which was pulling her down
until her final exhale which
he listened to attentively,
to connect it to quiver,
creating new versions of perfection.
His harmony of touch,
an impeccable performance.
And her craving was growing stronger.
Mortality and eternal life.
The contrast of two beings,
the refraction of sounds on the piano,
in the melody, that his fingers composed.
Reproduction of the interpreter
who played with her mind.
A masterpiece of an artist
who didn’t even believe
he was an artist until he found
his perfect instrument.
She never dreamed that she would
represent someone’s whole world
on black and white piano keys.
That the echo of that music is
much deeper and more far away
than the screams of mortals.
That this composition was created of
her eternal touches, imprinted on his skin.
Without the ability to play,
she became his piano.
He read from her body,
followed his own body,
a record of all notes and music,
the violin key on her heart,
as the beginning of a new tune.
I, the pianist, create new opportunities,
with 88 keys, 52 white, and 36 black.
An endless number of touches
and spaciousness of one diatonic tone,
to tones that don’t have their equivalents.
I play on you, I play like I used to,
a long time ago.
Without the ability to play,
she became his piano,
his favorite instrument.

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