all the different keys of his piano.
There, in the static heat of an underground subway,
I witnessed a man make effervescent love, the song he drew out effortlessly from the mouth of his willing instrument.
Was it only me that stood there transfixed, unable to tear my eyes away?
In all these years, I have never seen a man regard me with the same tenderness this man felt for his piano. And oh!
How the fruits of their love fed the passerbys, dawning on us a melody born from the throws of such ecstasy! His song haunted me.
all day long, this song...
I watched as it washed over my skin,
sinking further into the folds of muscle and tissue.
To let you know that there is more to life than the games of desiring flesh.
For indeed, moments of such magic can only be caught by the searching eye.
What is this?
That elicits my heart to flutter akin to the butterfly, that at dawn reminds me of its temporary nature?
To fray, to draw back curtains and witness two pollens clinging together outside my window. Dancing with the breeze that tosses them in circles, still they remain intertwined in embrace.
My hands reach out and meet the frame of glass, feeling this yearning ignite again as I watch them dance.
That unlike humans, with our limited capacity for love, these pollens do not grasp at each other. Their devotion is not marked by the other, but by the winds. In complete submission, they each dance in the arms of their maker.
I know moments like these last only for one breath before the flux of gravity sweeps in to claim the present,
behold; what was seen and felt has become just now a memory and what other choice do we have than to surrender to it? We cannot hold what was never ours, as these gifts are taken away as quickly as they manifest.
I did not wait for the song to end, I could not cling as I have all these lives before.
To the memory of a man and his lover piano.