I'm hopelessly jealous
of your piano
because the nimble dance of your fingers
as you play Moonlight Sonata
upon my leg
(and up my back)
makes me forget
there are four other senses.

I'm terribly jealous
of your piano
because when you play it,
your face is rapt with such attention --
if you were to look at me
like that
I'd blush so deeply
the blood rush
would knock me out.

I'm outrageously jealous
of your piano
because of the countless hours
you've dedicated to it.
I wish all those hours
had been spent instead
exploring me
with your fingertips.

I'm intensely jealous
of your piano
because it sounds
so goddamn beautiful
every time you touch it.
If only
I could inherit
the same perfection
when your fingers caress
my skin.