Piano
Soft enough to wipe away my tears, with them
Endless fear and pointless anxiety, ever inflicting lasting comfort and fatal promise.
Strong enough to catch me before I fall, to pull me back
From the cliff where my sanity and wits hang unhinged,
To keep me grounded and somewhat sane.
Uncalloused and soft, webbed with intriguingly
Infinite veins I could get lost in
Like miles of unknown roads.
Pronounced knuckles comparable to mountains
From the strength and infliction they have endured,
The steadfast way they never waver to the prominent peaks
And defined dips they form as they grip my own hands,
My hair, the worn leather of a steering wheel,
Harsh, thorn covered branches, carefully turning
The flimsy pages of a subpar pamphlet surpassing as a book.
Free of dirt—literally and figuratively—untouched by auto grease
Or transmission fluid, yet remaining interminably full of
Grace and fluidity in every wave and gesture;
Subtle and sadly under-appreciated.
These hands have captivated me absolutely,
Leaving me wholly lost in the ineffable an indistinct beauty they emanate.
Capable of endless tasks, both utterly mindless and fiercely disciplined.
Every ephemeral graze against my skin like an everlasting minuet;
Tuning the fine chords to an untimely and unrepeatable melody.
A sweet adagio with every soft brush against my chin or wrist,
A captivating cadence as nimble and unfailing fingers sweep my hair behind my ear,
Hovering parallel to my cheek bone, chipping and simultaneously tempting.
An arduous andante as your hands wander longer,
Testing the contours and tuning the chords,
Discovering the dips as my breath hitches and my eyes falter.
My hips, my waist, my ribs, my lips.
An almost abusive allegro as your lips find mine
While your fingers define the dynamics of a fearless fantasia
Morphing violently into a sweet symphony.
All the while, your charmed, enchanting and intoxicating fingers
play me
like
a
piano.