His music, his Magic.

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His long, thin fingers moved along,
Softly and delicately as they beautified a song.

His soft touches on the keys created magic,
Sometimes lovesongs, sometimes stories tragic.

They enchant me, capture me, like an impenetrable spell,
And joys fulfill me or drops of sadness from eyes fell.

And when I look at his handsome face and eyes all brown,
There seems to be a turbulent ocean inviting me to drown.

His body pulls me, like a magnet, towards him,
Some piece of mine is hidden somewhere within him.

Who is he and who am I?
Why this pull? Why this silent cry?

S.F.R.

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