Home Poetry Play


by Stephanie Alfaia

He sits beside me as I
press down softly on his piano
alternating between black and white

Not so fast, he says.

I slow down,
and think of the moon
that time we watched the astros
slow dance in the sky
his hands on my waist
his breath on my neck
a soft, slow, delicious exhale
swept into a kiss.

Softer here, he says.

I press the keys softer,
his eyes meet mine with a smile
two pulses blending into Chopin
he draws his hands out of his pockets
and then there are four hands in tune
and I am melting
becoming a giant puddle
at his feet.

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