five parts of a whole

i.    hands

Legato fingers
  grace pale keys,
gentle...
  and onyx tones belong
in the harmony.

Dark bruises
of spilled ink
coat the moonlit palms
  like raindrops,

as fingertips coax
  legendary tales
from pen and piano
      alike.

Spindly shadows
  spread across pages
of purest snow,
as ebony meets
ivory
in melody,
  and there is balance
beneath
  these
  hands.



ii.      eyes

A forest hides
behind
    flickering lashes—
green and brown merge
  and circle
around the silhouette
of a thought.

Too quickly, clouds cover
  the quiet wood
at signs of
suffering.
      Yet, when lightning strikes
    among the trees,
  fires flare
    all too easily.

True, after the flames
  always comes relief
as crystal liquid wells
  and spills over
  the dam,
flooding the stillness—
  dewdrops on the surface
      of verdant
            eyes.


iii.    breath

The drumming
  (staccato
    within)
never ceases—
reminding crimson rivers
  to flow,
and gently stirring
the breeze.

Smooth skin rises
  and falls
over the valleys,
with each zephyr
  lifting
deep-rooted mountains,
      peacefully.

Even after exertion,
the beat remains
a steady pulse—
  in, out,
  up, down,
and the soft wind
is even...

but somehow,
  just hearing the
low voice of
  the one
  can send the drum
into a frenzied rush,
  forcing the air
into a sharp gasp—

until it slows
and there is a sweetness
in the new draft of
  breath.


iv.      lips

Simple.
Two crescent-moon
  curves, dyed with
young rose petals...

strange, how they part
to whisper
  the sacred syllables
of the name;
      how they tingle
at the sight
of the one.

Innocence
  (presumably),
yet a deep longing to brush
  against another pair
  of petals;
  to feel the warmth
  of more than just sunlight...

Awaiting a chance
  to taste the music,
there is such power
in delicate,
  dream-scented
      lips.


v.      within

There is a calm;
  a still pond;
      a silent sunrise
inside,

where nothing hurries
  (impetuous impulses
    put to rest)
and thoughts run clear
as diamond springs.

In blue moons
and purple skies,
  however,
tremors spread.
      Aspen leaves quiver
    as the silence falls
  away, leaving
a shattered mirror
where the water rested.

You.

Reverberations spread—
  a pressure gently builds.

Dewdrops grace the hands,
as the eyes seek a face...
and as the breath quickens,
lips begin to tingle.

Exhilaration...

  for a time
    all too brief.

Trembling hands show
  ink stains
once more, as the hidden forest sleeps
in eyes. Unsteady breath slows,
  and lips resign to
    another infinite wait…

but inside,
  the quiet is broken.
Behind the mended mirror
  and silent sunrise,

there is a new dream
  within.