Dance Naked

Her fingers are shorter and thicker than you would imagine a pianist would have
But she stretches past an octave and a third with sheer determination
And knows Beethovan as intimately as her lover
Those same fingers seek out the dial and search for a different sound
Her heart skips the downbeat when the next song comes on
And her foot taps to the rhythm before she consciously recognises artist or title
The music owns her soul and her body too
Her arms criss-cross around her in an odd embrace
And she pulls her dress up and off as she twirls unencumbered by cloth or self-consciousness
Her joy is her own flowing out like a geyser
Erupting from the deep spring that is her soul
And she dances naked across her kitchen singing for all she is worth.