by N J Thornton   Oct 2, 2008

Rousing the keys
with her left fingertips,
she reclined in conversation
with her dearest.

They caressed
each other’s fingers,
and made melodies
from questions and
personified emotions.

She teased the mono-board;
muttered her misdemeanours
and giggled at the response.

She spent so many hours
conversing with
the skipping notes,
that she got lost
in their air and amity
and began to

mirror the ivories.


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Latest Comments

  • 10 years ago

    by Esther

    I don't fully grasp the concept of this poem, but it flows well.

  • 11 years ago

    by Brittany C

    Watch out for "other�s" though I know what the word is those little signs kind od through the reader off a little. This is a nice poem and is different. Keep up the good work. 5/5

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