(Credit: Oleg Shuplyak, adobetips.org)
“Do you hear that?”
“No.
I’m playing,
Not listening,
Playing
With your heart,
With your mind.
Relax,
Let it happen.”
“Is that a piano?”
“Piano strings, heart strings,
I play them all.
I’ll give you wings,
To fly
Into a wall,
To lie
To you about and let you fall
Off a high building.
Metaphorically of course,
But we are in your head.”
“You’re going to kill me?”
“No,
Oh no,
I would never
Stain
My hands with your blood.
It wouldn’t be clever,
And it would cause me pain
To see that red flood,
Deliciously real, not merely ostensible, pain.”
“So you… care? For me?”
“I love you!
As the vulture loves his feast
As beauty was loved by the beast
Before he tore her to shreds.”
“I think we’ve heard different versions of that story.”
“Versions,
Immersions,
Let yourself go,
And I’ll let you know,
Let me win,
And I’ll tell the story you are in.”
