When your fingers press the ebony
I see my life become an ivory rose,
sweet aromas, a vision of youth, I feel new.
Curls kiss my eyes, and gurgles of rivers
stir up essence from memory heart-marrow.

When your fingers press the ebony
it melts in my ears like a song of an ancient olive tree
roots reaching toward the center of the earth.
Like a long exhale of a mountain ridge
ready for the winter sleep
Like a call of a blue whale
crossing a thousand miles through the water
to the only one who can hear it.

When your fingers press the ebony
I fall in love with you over and over
Like an endless loop of sonata.
© DM.