Page Turner & Pianist
      

       Dressed to perform,
       ambition stripped,
       to accommodate your fingers
       I 
       lean toward 
       the slow tempo of your hands,
       and away 
       as you quicken the pace,
       immersed in the task,
       the steady progress of form and fancy
       apart from the pleasures of the stave,
       clinical almost, but appreciative,
       leading your hands, fingers, to their place,
       answering the catch in your breath,
       the nod of your head
       that tell me 
       you are ready for more . . . 
       then touch, turn
       page upon page
       until the last bottom sheet 
       is folded in place
       and you are taken
       at last, to your final measure
       beyond any need of me;
       the me ambitious,
       the me undressed,
       the me who wishes
       nothing more 
       than   
       to shed these sheets, 
       this line and measure,
       these notes, 
       your hands, 
       your face --
       cast them all out 
       then lower my self
       in the round, rolling, 
       untended pleasure of 
       the music.
       
       

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