Ivory’s thunking against each other.
The distant dissonance of wrong notes played.
The hefty breaths by the struggling musician.
My ears need hands.
When I’m with you.
My ears don’t need clasping.
Their breaths become light,
and the chords align with each other.
The keys become parallel to one another.
When I’m with you,
a harsh harmony
turns into a soundless symphony.