Your fingers are at first frost bitten,
As you touch me.
But as you move so gracefully,
Heat encompasses the tips.
What a beautiful sound we make,
And with you doing most the work.
Hammers strike with each swift press.
Vibrations of all octaves.
Move through my ivory teeth,
And turn the heads of all.
How we are made for each other.
For without the counter music is not made.
Hear me sing out my love,
And I can feel yours with each touch.
With trills, swells, and ritardando’s,
The noise guides ears to heaven.
For you are the hands that play,
And I the piano by the stairs.