Flowers

Her fingers bounced

– or tackled –

the keys, trying to find a noise,

a sound that made her remember,

something

– or nothing –

that gave her some sense of where she was,

where she could be.

The right key

– chime –

Remember then?

– When?

When we woke up happy?

One, two, three –

CDC

Soft white blankets and soft white bodies,

mingling in some romanticized youth.

Flowers in the hair, flowers everywhere

– Everywhere?

Happy…

Fingers off keys

Cold

Fingers on keys               Hot

When she hit the right key, she was there again;

fingers in his hair.

And that was happy.

That was flowers everywhere.

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