the sound of
crashing strings
swallowing me.
the sound of
pedals
colliding
echoing.
for however long
you have moved me
i have been in love.
how can such
a forlorn look
bewitch me
into submission.
i detest the fingers
that play you till you rust
the fingers that should be mine
but are not.
why are you silent
only until you feel
the liquid trembling
of lustful greed for
the brown orange
gauze that dabs
g e n t l y
at the wounds
of those who
depend on your
sanctuary.
the chair has
been with you
all this time.
and he has
never touched
what he shouldn't.
he sits with you
hears other fingers
abuse you
listens to your
musical suffering
and waits
constantly
for a different pair
of hands to love you
right.
right.
right.
right.
you know only
left. too bad he
can't hear your
preferences.
he is silent as well.
but he hears.
he listens.
and he
bleeds
in
sorrow.
but you see nothing.
you are only a piano.
