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Lovers, forget your love,
and listen to the love of these,
He's, the player, and she is his keys,
Like a tiger in the jungle stalks his mate,
his fingers play her ivory fate.
He marks her with a slapping beat,
with grunts of pleasure and tapping feet.
He frees himself from all restraint,
free from bondage, free from hate.
To play her keys again in clover,
to emancipate her over and over.
He kisses her keys with finger tips,
then sighs upon her ivory lips.
As witnessed by the evenings blue,
it turns her keys another hue.
He takes her for his evening flight,
through looking-glass and windows light.
The lovers are prepared alright,
this cool and windless summers night.
On wings of doves they take their plight,
o'er Piano's Moonlit Ivory White.
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