Vien Joel Poet Free verse

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.

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