the glass house project. (entry 9)

entry no. 9 (careful)


this beating
inside my chest
is unfamiliar
it's foreign -
like paris in the fall.
and it's growing,
this rhythm.

it's forte
and staccato
and 16th notes -
it's a symphony, really.

and at night, it sings me to sleep
with melody and harmony and all the mastery
of Beethoven and Chopin
and delicate hands that know just the right way
to tickle ivory.

hands that reach past an octave
into runs and runs of chords
and scales
and an occasional rendition of 'chop sticks.'
to which my heart sings the baritone
and then speeds to the first soprano
airy, light - fast

and i don't want
to slow it down