I love to slide my fingers up and down their smooth hard surfaces, savoring every inch of their breadth and length, touching them, kissing them, surprising with a delicate tickle. Brown, white, black, their exteriors thrill me equally and their size doesn’t matter.
In all positions, on top or on the bottom, I seek harmony. Sometimes I tease a yearning whimper from my lover, pianissimo, a lullaby, dolce, dolce, then I attack--mezzo forte then forte, my passion swelling to wild crescendo until, spent, I collapse, exhausted.
I wish it were always so perfect, but like all lovers, we bicker. I even hit them sometimes, pound them mercilessly. But while I may rage, from the dissonance often comes understanding and the sweetest song, and when we part, a piano and I, it is with regret, affection, and the promise to return.
Karen-Monroy wrote 775 Days Ago (positive)1You guys are really good at being bad!! LOL. Thank you for the smiles :-)0 points Robbie wrote 775 Days Ago (neutral)0I've showed you mine... hehe!1 point AnaLewis wrote 775 Days Ago (neutral)0Oh Robbie! My sister in bad poetry. This is music to my tone-deaf ears! You have inspired me to keep posting the worst of the worst in my poetry collection. This is so fun!!0 points