Title: Heart at your fingertips
by Esther from Gloucestershire | in writing, poetry
I am sitting at the piano
Pressing the keys, making a sound.
He walks over, sits on the red velvet stool
So close his arm brushes mine, and he smiles,
Those clear, clear blue eyes sparkle.
We're sitting at the piano.
He caresses the keys, makes them sing,
A soft touch, tender and sweet.
Then he makes it shout, loud and clear.
Fingers stretched over black and white;
A blur, yet each note so defined and precise.
From the most simple melody to complex chords:
From Gershwin to Chopin, Disney and jazz
He plays, and with a skill I can only even dream of.
Yet all this time he's looking at me;
Questioning, challenging, asking me to prove myself.
Or is he proving himself to me?
I turn my gaze quickly, stand, move away,
My eyes say too much, betray me.
I know that after a last embrace, goodbye,
His smell will cling to my clothes;
The left side.
Play softly, because you play
With my heart at your fingertips.
A guy I liked a while ago had the most amazing talent at the piano, we're good friends now but I still really envy the way he can play...
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