I am listening to your intentional typing
noticing your knitted eyebrows
feeling a ghost’s caress on my lower back
a knock on the ceiling
I hear the train in your neurons d
transporting thoughts that cause a c c i e n s
t
in the space between you and everything
else and me
The ghost smiling as he traces my shoulder now
while you deliver your cargo of worries
and leave me by the streetlight
h o l d i n g on to my shadow
You return on the same train
with the same shipment the air smelling of
exhaust tousled hair misplaced eyes
disjointed soul a knowing smile
dexterous fingers
Will you caress my lower back now?
The Naked Pianist 