Literature
Your Fingers Drip Sonatas
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver
like the whispers of late night love sighs,
across the silence of my morning heart they quiver.
Your practiced notes fall as symphonic silver
as crescendos trip into passion cries.
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver
trickling through the silt of my soul like a river,
effluents that never ebb or run dry.
Across the silence of my morning heart they quiver
as I wait with baited breath for you to deliver
movements like planets in celestial skies.
Your fingers drip sonatas, which shiver
out into the world in sharp staccato slivers
only to slip away to pianissimo, then rise.
Across the sile