swelling it with such joy and pleasure as no lover
can dare to accomplish. My fingers stroke the air
before me as if it were those coveted ivories,
and for one brief moment, I am transported back in time.
To a world where dancing and beauty were as essential
as drawing a breath; where writing a letter
was an art form, and love making
was just as powerful for a man
as it was for a woman.
Oh to smell the verdant fields of England, where
Brandon and Dashwood fell in love and
Darcy and Bennet were married.
To feel the caress of Rochester’s lips on mine,
the flames of Thornfield igniting our passion
and lighting our way down the altar as one.
Curse this life for depriving me of my fantasy;
how dare it put me here
in this world of email and eHarmony?
The player stands, and the cover is closed.
With a crash, I am brought back to reality,
as the piano is pushed off the stage.
September 2012
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