Please play, sir.
We like the way your hand skates
and your chin almost takes of residence on the keys.
It is as though the piano is talking to you;
you are certainly talking to it.
Isn’t it funny, that your voice is so rough
but your hands are soft, like your words.
All tenderness and insight, a bit of the pavement
in the lounge, if you know what we mean.
And you do, sir. You do.
We hear it. We feel it. Sometimes our skin
tightens. Just enough to make us think
you can read our minds.