It was the press of the gold pedal-
a clumsy, young kiss to my calf muscle-
Sonata No. 14’s minor strokes rippling,
dark water disturbed by a falling leaf,
out from under my reaching fingers.
The ache of longing,
a melancholy thirst,
shattering, shaping build
of a budding child
meeting a woman’s passion
face to face,
touching palm to palm
with velvet ivory and ebony fire.
Even now those chords,
wrapped in moonlight and the burning
tug of abdominal muscles-
‘hard breath, goosebumps, hard breath’-
caress the brim of my center;
gentle notes heating my core
with a wicked shadow,
a rock-candy devilry,
adagio immorality dripping
chills down my legs.