Love And Music

Her hands still played the keys deftly
caressing the monochromes,
skipping
resting
as a mother’s hand
alighting briefly on a child’s face.

Her fingers, blindfolded, knew
the well-worn pathways
as surely as she had once
caressed a lover’s spine
stroking each vertebra
and listening for the distant note.

'A minor' cued her to Paris
and an oblong room above a tobacconist
Where lace panels reached the boards
and shielded them from the street.

Middle C belonged to Milan,
lovemaking accompanied
through the skin thin wall
by the neighbouring alto.

Her hands quickened to the crescendo
before slowing

and stopping

listening to the noise
within the silence.



Her fingers twitched,
moved,
anticipating,
hearing.
It was not done
She began to build again,
expanding her heart,
her body softening
her spirit ten feet above her head

Dancing.