Eighty-eight keys invite my fingers to play.
Eighty-eight keys promise to show me the way.
My piano is my true love; she sings just for me.
Despite her intimidating beauty, her melodic voice sets my spirit free.
I approach her with cautious anticipation, before each dance.
Respect must be given, to cultivate our musical romance.
Gently and lovingly, my finger tips fall against her polished skin.
The metronome clicks; the mood is right; and now our ballet begins.
We play…in G.
In the key of G, my love whispers to me: Softly, and sensually.
We play…in C.
In the key of C, she coos responsively and tantalizingly.
Again in G…we play.
Vamped G cords dance, as my lovely lady croons of love’s way.
In the key of D…we sway.
In perfect tempo, our harmonic voices chase all cares away.
Our chord progression repeats and loops;
Her crescendo intensifies with each measure.
We lose ourselves in musical bliss,
drowned in melodic, climactic pleasure.
Diminuendo slows the pace,
Of our musical-lovers’ embrace.
We end the impromptu fete,
After measure number eighty-eight,
and I step away, savoring her lingering audible grace.