my keyboard

My keyboards are my keys with a pianos grace combining thought and reason. I have forgotten the last time my fingers felt this relief, this satisfaction, this awkward hello. I have become its touch. Nothing left but scattered letters all alone at darks end. Make sense for a change. Your 119 keys apart. Half awake you glance at patterns in my eyes, wondering what I’m going to express next. Still and motionless, I forget. And then begin breathing again. A thought surfaces, well maybe a letter, at which point the strokes of each finger vibrates. I’m it’s perfect feeling, It’s way of enjoying gravity. But to me it is a friend, just a friend and nothing more. “I’m sorry” it writes, as I type it in. Well who is sorry then, me or you? Awkward I felt, but never the less I continued on. As each minute passed, it called for attention, hungry for the texture of my fingertips. I’ve never looked away, I never smiled, I just followed each letter to the next until it all made sense, until the letters appeared parallel to my views with the color of clouds behind it; on a sunny day. Enter. Sent. Still waiting for a reply as my eyes catch the spaces in between each key. A space crammed with air, where only they can feel its breath. A place of wonders wrapped around small pieces of metal and plastic. I could only imagine the satisfaction it’s getting, the type of orgasms it’s receiving. I pause. Allowing my index finger to get stuck on uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu……….