Empty Skin

I really want to touch you.

I really want to touch you and make you make sounds. Beautiful sounds for all to enjoy.

I want to trigger the hammer that plays your strings, and gently…or forcefully place my fingers on your light, and dark, hard skin.

I want to play you in ways that will send a shiver down my spine, and a warmth in my soul.

Play you in a way that moves the hearts of all around me…or at least their feet.

But when I sit in front of you, fear overcomes me. That is all I feel. The warmth of my soul is frozen over by the iceberg of tension in my mind.

I want to touch you like I used to, and feel alive again. Like when I was young, and I did not know fear, and it did not know me – with that innocent and wondrous childish mind, I want to touch you.

When I touched you, I’d forget anything else that goes on – only you mattered. How I wish my mind would allow that now, how I wish it weren’t always so clouded. You sang beautifully when I paid enough attention to you.

Make me yours again, let me play you like I used to.

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