The Piano Plays..

He draws a breath of silk.. Mid a crinkled surface
Whilst he searches...For the angel that saved him..
Without the fit ~ That had once shadowed his face..
Guided by a set hand.. That forsakes the dim...

Whilst his blanket...Remains his famous creature....
A shield all powerful ~ Spirited beyond aglow...
With sword standing by..(A steel liquid of pure)...
To feel the cold tongue of the melting snow...

Whilst he absorbs slowly...The pear shaped drops...
Waiting cautiously....For each slice of coolness..
To neatly launder..The brisk slang of dry hops...
Whilst he watches the princess...Slowly undress..

One ~ ~ And two..three..four.. The piano plays..
Whilst it listens ~ To where the last finger lays..