so, would you would you hesitate to play?
all the things in store you’ve heard of —
things you’d like to do, the most?

we’d whisper
inside whispers,
night and day, and charge on amex,
rooms of cashew ginger peanut butter french fries,
spread on toast.

and, arthur rubinstein would sing our brand new birthday,
tatting on the keys — no mystery here, it’s only play.

the fold and fold of fingers bending years inside
beside themselves; fleeting rushes kissing loving….
wrapped inside time’s feathered gown;
let’s dance a double curve back through
our history… instead of faking moments: time don’t pay.
and, make a song we’ll sing again, invent a ghost gray Saturday to hide inside
between ourselves.

you’d sing a song to wake up sleepy willow trees,
you’d tap dance on the floor of xanadu. and, all the while,
where would you could you with the other girl who’s listening,
who’d stop your pitter-patter with a smile, and you’d be gone.