like an antiques-store owner
but younger
much
so delicate her fingers on the pads
and each preparatory inhale tautens the flesh
and muscles below the chocolate bun
chasing its own tail
but those fingers
each phalange so well defined
that there may be no meat there
just enough bone to support the too-young skin
as she shifts
from note to note
a run through time
even her metacarpals are obtrusive
like artwork in pastels or chalk
but more tangible
so fluid and earthly her movements
even trivial exhales of words speed my blood
and piercing thoughts
sometimes clamping my rids toward my spine
reminding me of times i failed
here there is meat
a sturdiness, a strength
a blur of inherent warmth
a smudge of will and comprehension
and she shifts
stepping on my mind
hope or not
her cheeks so ready and carefree(less
with their open arms)
i need something to grab on to
jan 9, 2000 1:30am david a taylor