All the night my fingers flew,

You slept alone and never knew,

The dreams that I was making true,

All the night my fingers flew,

Up to โ€“

The Top of the World and back,

Flew around each railroad track,

Across the keys then stopped to crack,

Get themselves all back in whack,

And rest โ€“

A moment while I think,

Knuckles swollen, aching pink,

Under warm water at the sink,

And you slip โ€“

Further into your solitary sleep.

I fly around while the night grows deep.

What is this secret that we keep?

Always look before you leap.

Always look before you leap.

Or is it leep?

Into bed with strangers counting sheep,

Who sleep alone and never know,

Of all the places, they could go,

Windmills where the four winds blow,

My fingers flying to and fro.




Categories: Poetry, Red Line Wine

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