Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
ellis-reyesPoems
Her hands are neither soft nor attractive. They are a white fish belly from too little time in the sun. Her nails are stubby and unadorned. Her fingers are tentacles projecting unnaturally from undersized palms, tips rough and calloused. I must stare I cannot help myself Then it begins. The movement. The tentacles scamper here and there. They reach They touch They pound and poke and stretch and crawl and in their grotesque fury teach me to love. Mozart and Chopin Prokofiev and Bach The piano is a time machine transforming the tiny practice room into the mighty concert halls of Vienna and Prague. From the gallery I am entranced by rhapsodies seduced by nocturnes and consumed by symphonies. I murmur, does the music stir your soul? She glances up briefly and returns to work.
0
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
Rene
Her hands are neither soft nor attractive. They are a white fish belly from too little time in the sun. Her nails are stubby and unadorned. Her fingers are tentacles projecting unnaturally from undersized palms, tips rough and calloused. I must stare I cannot help myself Then it begins. The movement. The tentacles scamper here and there. They reach They touch They pound and poke and stretch and crawl and in their grotesque fury teach me to love. Mozart and Chopin Prokofiev and Bach The piano is a time machine transforming the tiny practice room into the mighty concert halls of Vienna and Prague. From the gallery I am entranced by rhapsodies seduced by nocturnes and consumed by symphonies. I murmur, does the music stir your soul? She glances up briefly and returns to work.
ellis-reyes
Written by
ellis-reyes
M/American
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem