July 21, 2011

Violin Strings

As the violin strings tense,
waver and beauty arises from them
the hairs on the back of my neck prick,
these eyes water.
This song still haunts me
the same as images of his face still do
within each restless collection of repeative daydreams.
Never to forget that one time
we sat on his five dollar coach,
listening and belonging to a world all our own.
Each tightly pulled string caressing my heart
as the pads of male fingers once did
upon my pale, tearful cheeks.
No maestro held an instrument as delicately
as those hands touched my heart shaped face,
erasing wet traces of goodbye from my eyes.
I loved then.
Sitting in the darkened living room,
aching for the seconds to stop
and that forever could stay a while
so I would not be without him.
Was his finest masterpiece.
For a while.

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