i watch your fingers flow
across the black and white keys
like the way rain drops sprinkle
atop the roof, so delicately and natural

i imagine those fingers
pitter-pattering across
my overly ticklish skin
oh, how i'd giggle and squirm

i watch the keys tremble
they, too, let out a giggle,
in their own pitch,
at the hands of your touch

i imagine what they'd
say to you if they could
utter any other tune

they'd probably say no one else
could play quite like you do,
with your pirouetting fingers
dancing up and down the scales

the only objections would come
from your piano bench
getting weaker and weaker
more brittle, as you get
deeper and deeper into
more hauntingly beautiful compositions

but me, i don't want you
to stop playing, piano man
for, it is only your melodies
that act as remedies
for my ever-wavering state of mind