The shadow on your chin
creates the mystery
where secrets could lie
but the moment they arrive
you turn your cheek
and light floods your pores
shining your truth onto me.
I used to be another instrument,
pinched and plucked, full of one voice
one dynamic, no matter how hard or soft I was played
waiting for the movement.
Until you came along
and added one piece to my purpose
and set me free.
I became a rainbow of sound
sensations offered to the fingers of my fellow man
those who touched me poorly or soundly could finally hear my song
I’ve got a scar on my knee
from the time your wife spun me
when we danced.
She pulled me clockwise,
I turned counter
and slid to the ground like a salamander
scraping the floor onto my knee.
Each time I think about what happened
I touch the scar on my knee.
I recall that bruises blooming with violent hues
can be reduced to anorexic red lines
eventual newborn skin to match the off-white
each time I touch the scar on my knee.
It will not be the first thing you notice