What do I owe you for the freedom you bring? A tool of labor for some, but an instrument of art to me.
My fingers fly with enthusiasm when the words in my head drip from fingertips, expressing myself.
Knuckles stiff, out of practice, my fingers stumble and quiver.
Warmed up, stretched, and confident, fingers dance back and forth, up and down, left to right, caressing your keys with the freedom only flowing thoughts can bring
Listen to the music of gentle tapping you bring. The thrum of increased tempo and rhythm as ideas rush to be imprinted on paper.
Clicking to the melodic taps my ears long to hear without pause – a song I hope never ends.
An expression of my overcrowded brain only you can bring.
A performance of freedom only given between my fingers and you.