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The Piano


The Piano

A slow crescendo
licks across my skin
swimming from shoulder to shoulder

A hand on my neck-
like being brushed with a comb of spider webbing

I can hear you
even when we’re not close enough to touch
though our body hair becomes entangled

What wonders come from your mouth
when you’re not using your tongue to speak

You can play me
Ivory keys
ivory flesh
it makes no never mind

Your lips make my pores sing

Sweat drops down on the bedding
eight note
quarter note
writing a tune that hooks us together

What music could issue forth from these sheets!

February 23, 1994
Tressa Lee Breen

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