Claude’s daughter

Loving her like the white keys
Much more to that than A to C
How did she dance? What colour was her dress? How did she wear her hair?
And were her eyes on you as she smiled?

You looked down and waved at her
When the sun beat upon the half shuttered windows
And her mother was not welcome
In your bed

Because when the shutters fully closed
And the beds became unmade
It was the black keys you danced between

Did they sing to you? As sweetly?

You know she died?
She had but weeks on you
You you you you years
On her

There is a question still resonating somewhere
Between the black keys and the white keys

Would she have forgiven?

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