A pile of wood and ivory.
Her tired frame sits uncomfortably
until I join her.
The music leaves my mind in a rush of fire,
through my veins and out of my fingertips it explodes
when I take my seat.
The two of us become one as my hands dance with her keys,
and we are at peace.
Apart from one another, the piano and I are in turmoil.
Our relationship is harmonic
I, too, am an exhausted pile of wood and ivory.