Your Music

[Guest guest]

The hands upon the strings

of this, my souls awakening

are changing.

The piano keys are filling with your light.

The sound is hardly mine to hear,

but yours to play within your playfulness.

 

Those hands are not just mine anymore.

Yours fingers are long and elegant.

Whereas mine are clumsy.

Your touch gentle

whereas mine heavy.

Your movements full of grace.

Whereas my moves are inept.

 

The hands in themselves

are butterflies of musical becoming.

That caress this inner meaning

of our music making.

I long to gently place my callused hands upon yours,

and feel the pulse of your love

as it re-creates this old tune into your masterpiece.

 

Yet, am I not those hands also?

Your beautiful hands are one with this body of love.

I am your fine tuning.

You sound out my notes

like a breath of spring

in the sonata of this my surrender to your play.

 

And so I sit down in you

and let the perfume of this love

overcome the fantasy of our difference.

I listen and watch, and abide

in this melody of loves portrayal,

of this, my souls singing as you.

 

love

 

eric

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright 2002. Eric Ashford.