The cascade of my fingers
twirl at the brink of your leaps.
A long, longed for, memory
missed from the depths of my dreams.
Desires lost from the fraught discouragement -
the weight of all I lack most.
I've stained and blemished
the pure, perfect marks of your make.
Our sonata, I could never bring true.

Years, I did not care for you.
Abandoned to gather dust and ashes -
veiled beneath the thin, motley garbs.
I returned, but heard not
the voice familiar to my ears.
How lovely is your dwelling,
for it is so far from my being.

My hands are stiff in amnesia,
I remember barely
the songs we sang together,
the tunes we hummed in harmony.
In dissonance, I cry.

All else I can feel
but the joy I once adored
in your keys of black and white.