The Maestro

I drink the nectar of your fingers as they nimbly move from note to note. They stop from time to time or run slow with an air of deliberation. Emotion pours forth as spirit wine from expression wooing the senses. Feeling the vibrations from the chord resonating between heart and hands, I languish, jealous of your talent. The piano is your friend, chosen as your friend chooses you, from loyalty and admiration. You are why the piano exists. When you go It will not be fulfilled.