The rollercoaster of red velvet swells under the curve of my arm,
Symbiotic, reaching to taste the wine
of synthetic vibrations
as ivory as the bead upon your brow.
Tempo is key.
The languid hand of the poisoned beauty positions itself mockingly on
the manchette–captivated and oriented
but sleep is not death.
by some invisible chord warming its way to my brain, my heart.
Fingers twitch, fingers move, fingers harmonize,
Relish with transcendence the triad from the piano
choir, whose touch can rival that of its master’s
on my body, but penetrates to my soul.