Adelaide’s Nightstand Symphony

It was the way her fingers danced on the piano keys

As if her mind was underwater, engulfed, electrified,

A smile, towards me, dedicated, her hair vandalising

Her eyebrows, the heat on her skin, the outline of everything

Within her turned outward, my love for her, filling the room

Wordlessly, the twitching face, concentrated, stands commemorated.


The heroines of days deceased, the ashes rustling in the winds

Today, still, the stories and letters, the silhouettes and names.

I want to run my fingers through her hair, her spine against

My stomach, the forehead under my chin and lips, she was entire,

So close to me, the windows closed, the curtains enamoured

With the muffled sounds and dreamscape melodies, her slightly

Pressed lips, muttering, under her tongue, shrouded in associations.


The woman made out of porcelain, the evasive patterns, the

Translucency of her temples, the back chambers of her mind,

The neglected lipstick, the dusty drippy lips, the bursting mouthful

Of flavourful symphonies and unmentioned diary entries, a pianist in

A bowl of glass, I can hear her voice and what she never said to anyone

Else before, in the waves orchestrated by her trusted instrument.

attractive beautiful beauty black and white
Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on


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