It is in digits dancing across strings,
the sound sliding down nylon.
The light brushing of fingertips as they run.
The soft twang of strings under feathery fingers.
Vibrating titanium creating vivid noise,
cold metal becomes warm and inviting.
Glancing at notes and notches in wood,
Left hand shows what you know
and right hand shows who you are.
It is in warm water racing down to the floor,
hitting the ground with the weight of thunder.
Hair clinging to your face, desperate for life.
Steam so thick, suffocating.
Slick skin pelted by relentless water,
glistening from the soothing spray.
It is in crisply cut pages,
they dance through your fingertips,
as the words float across the page.
Off-white pages showing a colourful world
to a black and white reality.
A world of opportunity and freedom.
New pages with even newer experiences.
YOU ARE READING
Sublime
PoetryA book of poetry and a working title. A place to start for the ramblings of my mind.
