A Different Piano

we listen to wonderful music 

music I don’t recognise 

but still 

music nonetheless 

you sit up

the bedsheets tucked into your armpits 

and you say something like

“What time is it?” 

nothing too heavy 

and I reply something like

“Ten past nine.”

we listen to the wonderful music 

music I wish I knew the title of

music that stills us to utter silence 

making out the pattern of your breath 

my head

your shoulder 

the music 

“What time is it?” 

your voice 

my reply 

and a tune I’ll never again remember 


One thought on “A Different Piano

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