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.
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