No man's hands,
No fleshly thing upon this earth
Can caress me like you do.
It is in your pitches and arpeggios;
Your metres and your metronomes.
And no earthly trade,
No healers of the land
Can soothe me like you do.
It is in your cadence and your counterpoints;
Your minuets unvoiced.
It is in your strains;
Your touch upon the strings
Can mend my heart anew.
Your accent and crescendo,
Then piu and szorfando.
No man's hands can heal me, hold me, love me like you do.
I wait for you from my first breath
Expelled into the morning dew...
Sempre cadenza.
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