Chopin’s Nucturne faint in the night,
drifted from the house across the street.
In my ear it flowed like honey,
awakened me from a deep stupor.
Like Eros’ silken arrow, it pierced my heart
and left me wanting where it hit.
Intoxicating. Poison.
Fire igniting snow.
I melted.
And for no reason at all,
I wept.
Under the door,
I seeped, flowed and crossed the street,
Down the house where the music played.
I went.
And saw
Long, tapered fingers
danced across the old grand;
saw how the music tore his heart…
and saw love bleed his heart.
I stayed.
And stood where the blue-veined hands
shoot silken arrows through my soul;
glued till the fire faded in his eyes;
listened till the piano
played no more;
till his heart bleed
no more.
By dawn
the misty night
vanished into oblivion
bringing with it
the last notes in the air.
I groped my chest
where Nucturne held me so
and found gaping emptiness
where I was certain I bleed too.
Fleeting. Elusive.
Intoxicating. Sweet poison.
He leaves you wanting more,
on a night like no other night.
(To the ephemeral lightness I feel every time the wind carry the notes of Chopin’s Nucturne to my ears.)
