Away From My Precious Piano! Poem by Ianaldo Prescott Pourchot

My fingers are as weary,
As the wild rider’s horse.

An endless trail of notes,
My heart takes his course.

But when keys are away,
My soul feels dismayed.

My heart feels desire,
Restless tears in a gyre.

In love with keys so soft
Piano, piano makes me aloft

Her ivories are pale as snow
Her ebonies strike fire alone

Fires that smolder our hearts
But, not burning then to ash,

Rather, roasting them into a meal,
One that demons can’t repeal.

Warm delicious hum of melody,
Luscious feelings pour unto me.