Scattered Phrases

"A Wondrous Torture"

Riding the waves of the guitar,
Absorbed in its sounds
And its always your fingers that play it.

Surrounded by the storms of the piano
Calling with it
Your fingers always seem to be playing the notes.

Bouncing from drum to drum
Hit after hit to my skull
Your hands tap away.

Every single not in every single form is carried by your soul.

And yet.
I cannot find your hands with mine.