The sun has set,
and she has a long way to go before we’ll see her again.
We are dressed up,
in the dark,
with only candlelight for company,
and the soft whispers of the ebony and ivory underneath your flurried fingertips.
Our hips are touching,
but there is electricity on the seat that we share,
as you play an old jazz song,
harmonising with me as I sing sweet and high.
I think maybe God took a little time off,
to watch his favourite wayward daughter falling in love with you and your blue eyes,
your nervous, nurturing fingertips,
and the beautiful music that you share with me.