Come Up

The neighborhood is quiet, all streetlights turned out. There's no one awake, and no reasons to doubt. I can't stand the silence, so come up the stairs. Wear your shoes on the carpet, I don't even care. Just give me your hand, I'll let you take lead. So I can give what you want, and … Continue reading Come Up


I remember those hands... They were works of art. Palms built strong and casually calloused, yet soft in all the right places. And those fingers... Piano fingers. Long, straight, and eloquently narrow. Perfect for strumming strings or meandering atop white keys. Those hands were masterpieces. If only you had known how to use them...