The grand piano in the corner
is forbidden for you to clean.
Those faint fingerprints
are priceless little paintings
In the eyes of the missus
whose husband’s hands
Are cold and play no more.
She stopped going into town
She mostly sits in wrinkled clothes
On the bench she stares and waits.
When the dawn light washes
The black surface to reveal
The last traces of those fingers
Which she always longs to feel.
Curiosity drew me closer
As the bronze light of dusk
Slipped through the open window
Falling on the bright keys with dust
Undisturbed by the young widow.
I saw those swirls of precious oil
And ruined them with my tears.