the sound of her heart
resembled not a drum
beating against a rib cage
not a trumpet
resounding with triumph
but the sound of piano keys
being handled
with the gentlest touch
of nimble fingers
afraid to make a sound too
obtrusive,
damaging the soft sophistication
of the resonance between the chords
inside the wooden walls
a delicate consideration
for the discomfort of others
an unintentional audience
YOU ARE READING
poetic pages
Poetryjust poetry I wrote for myself #179 poet 06/18/18 #114 poet 06/18/20 #436 poems #697 poetry
