Piano

There you sit,
like a lady in a black evening gown,
one shoulder covered in an expensive throw,
the other exposed.

I never saw a lady sitting by a window
in such a repose.
I never more felt inclined to touch
my hand to a shoulder, that very instant, like I did
my fingers to your keys.

As the afternoon sun lights every
individual key with a tuscan kiss,
my heart turns away ruefully—
"there is no time to play now my dear,
maybe later."

The sheets of music, like eyes, stare back at me
expectantly and I exit the room
feeling as if I had left the presence of a
long, lost lover.

Maria-Lucille, I shall return to you.