You touch my hands
    because you have to.
The precision is essential,
and I’m a fumbling novice.
Your expert manipulation makes the chord sound nearly perfectly
so
close
But even more it makes me breathless…
Pulse like a metronome
Brain humming like the vibrating strings
    under my fingers
    under yours
Your breath in my hair as you circle behind to take my other hand
    suddenly clumsy as a child’s.

You say I need to be louder, more forceful
I know
I shouldn’t
A whole life relies on
    me keeping this quiet.