Tryst

Colin Hicks

I enter your room
and close the door behind me
You do not hear me come in

I lift the covers and gaze at your beauty
your long slim neck …
your strong shoulders …
your slender waist …

I lift you up and hold you close
then I sit, and place you on my lap

My left hand is on your neck
holding down a minor chord
My right thumb caresses your strings
and you sing to me

You are highly-strung but still too relaxed
so I increase the tension
until you sing the chord divinely

Together we warm up with some scales
then follows a strenuous workout with a challenging piece
and finally we relax with some old favourites

You look even better now than when we first met
Your hard brittle gloss is now a mellow satin sheen
and those few scars add to your mystery
You still sing like an angel
The years have been kind to you

They have not been so kind to me
My fingers are no longer nimble
Grace notes and trills are out of my reach
Semiquavers slip away through my fingers
My tremolo eludes me
and I have kissed my rasgueado goodbye
Yet you wait patiently
each time I stop to massage my aching hands

When the music has finished
I gently polish you with the softest of cloths
then lie you down and replace the covers

I leave your room
and close the door behind me
You do not hear me go

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