There is method in the meter
and the measure and the notes,
but the harmony
is full of madness.

There is no sanity
in what resonates
between your lips
and the hollow of my throat.

If I walk the tightrope
of the silvery strings
won’t I fall the minute
you start plucking them?

When I tumble,
landing hard inside the hollow
where the music sings
won’t it throw you off the beat?

There is no kindness in the melody
no mercy in the chords,
not even a remembrance of softness
beneath the callused tips
when I kiss your fingers, one by one.