Things You Know Without Asking

Your fingers coursing across the keys, like a butterfly flittering from flower to flower. They know the chords, know the vibrations each melody makes, know exactly how long to press upon them.

Your voice, raw, like sugar straight from the cane. Each word guiding across your tongue ripples the air, sinking sentences deeper in my sound waves.

The way it all moves together, molding music and meaning from the void. Dark, unfolding feeling rising to the surface, dipping to the strings of my heart so the swell of your song can breach the staccato beating of my own releasing rhythm.

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