A fat, stern faced man of grand
Rose from our already dined grafts

Realizing I was out of my depth in words
Already left out to no affect
His rising above struck me from my slumber

Solemn hands brought it's carved tip
Towards cupped lips forming
Compressed material protruding between strong, veined fingers
Flickered between pale eyes and metal bore keys
Produced.

Amid clattering laughs and hysterical outbursts

Compressing movements between his shoulder-blades. Observed
this great stability Danced away what was stale. Rested on an strange axis of a tilted stance.
Strange to observe, a feminine curiosity shaped
In practice carved from archaic ritual of centuries

Carried on the lever of those woodwind keys
Struck at my very core
Through the crystal light of a brazen spherical lamp
Lurking in a dim kitchen window
The coming of brilliant
Languid Winter