The Pianist Bird

Your arms like wings,
About to take off into the blues of my sky
To touch the floating clouds- pregnant,
And searching the Rain Child there,
To gift him a hat of stars.

You swim my sky.
And music -unheard, unknown pours into my seven beings, that awaken them from their hidden places to listen to your feather light touches...

Touch of your fingers, ten angel pianists, heavenly gifted.
easily make them  shifted-
from a snail to a butterfly..

These transformations go on every minute...
As you touch i change, i shift, i drift away from myself to become someone i hardly know...

Opening my heavily drugged eyes, sometimes i see my dreams dance, dangling from your finger,
Clinging to the car key and and to the keyboard of your cell phone...