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The Pianist

Come play the low notes of my soul
before the top notes sound hollow,
are wasted,
on a song without bass
on a life without depth.
Make my arms come alive
so they can surround you
Bring back the feeling in my fingertips
so it’s not only my gaze that
can caress that precious face of yours.
Make the sound stirring in my hips
enlarge and engulf me
until it tingles in my breasts
has me licking my lips;
As new metaphors dance on them,
as a fresh intake of air
is expelled and sends them dancing.
Like paper snowflakes
against a newly psychedelic world.

The Pianist

Indigo Bloo

Joined July 2009

  • Artist
    Notes
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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