Like a piano at the aisle of a church...

Stared for long
At fingers Yours
O how You played on reeds mine
Your fingers...
The pianist
At the aisle of the church...
A song italian...
Carrying sense
Of the sea so cool and yet so blue dense;

Felt for long sitting stoned
As if You your cool balm sent to my bones...
O how me final`e tune like died
Full...petrified...
O how You played on the reeds mine
At the aisle of a church...
Wooden floored
on shine...

And me...
Mutated to art of
Poesy...
And a speck of golden dust...
And music clear
Alike...