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.