Solo
Lonely hands touch
Ivory keys, tentative, afraid.
A wary finger presses gently down.
A sweet, long note cascades,
Then trickles off into the dark silence.
Plunk, plunk, plink,
Fingers explore carefully. Not music
Necessarily. Just becoming comfortable
In fact. Softly, hands relax and
Spread the keys’ length.
And suddenly, unexpectedly,
A second hand. It falls with confidence
On the keys. Its comfort there is different
From what your hands could know there.
You continue with the company.
Soon a song pours out like
Spilt honey wine. It’s sweet and fast
And spreads quickly. Its sticky warm liquid
Is sure to leave a residue behind,
But leave the cleaning for later.
Dynamic grows and
Two sets of hands
Are in the throes
Of a dizzying sound
That can’t be resisted.
And then you are alone.
The last note creeps
Back into the shadows,
Its head down in defeat.
So do you.
It’s quiet.
Copyright © Vien Joel | Year Posted 2016
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