Sharps spike my brain
With their taunting technique.
I can feel my lungs
Expel air as my fingers
Move in a movement

As crisp as winter rain.
I surface for my next bubble
Of air while my lips continue
Their evanescent struggle so as not to

Bend to the will of the score
During which I engrave my
Heart upon each note
To convey elation. The

Elation I feel as I let the piece
Ravage my brain and leave my
Lungs barren. It’s in my
Brain, my blood and hopefully, now
In you.