Ode to the Musician

A deaf girl hunches over
A splintered piano with no cords.
Close-eyed head sways to the liquid
Music streaming from her silent fingertips,
Only she can hear.
Only she can feel.

A pair of footsteps dancing to the tango
Of lust chasing resistance becomes
Drowned ambience beneath the healing
Strums of boy's thin soul.

A single note wavers,
Weeping for her companion
That lay mute a bow's length away
Resting on a fleshy pillow
In a hardwood violin case.
Perfectly tuned.

So now I stand here with a pen in one hand
And a pick in another.
Looking out the cigar-tinted pane
That frames the bulletproof windows
Of the buildings that house bulletholed lives,
And I ask myself;
Why aren't I sad?

But I just smile.