Maestro Poem by Matthew Zeller

Though hazel eyes already led me in,
ventured the unexplored,
found the undiscovered,
a virtuoso left hand brushed my ear
on its way to the nape
but not before I kissed a scented wrist-
berries, I think-
while the harmonious right
began from rest on tricep,
down the rib cage,
to small of the back
and pulled me to her, the both of them.

Before last rites ask me to confess
sins to someone there yet barely known,
I would not think it wrong to keep
this moment between but us and God,
or selfishly keep it as my own.
For what good could come that the soul repent?
Quivering lips, joined in subtle nod,
were asked of nothing but whispered, “yes”.

Then, now, and when I forever sleep,
if ever was a thing in me divine,
a hazel-eyed maestro, the soul’s resident,
lives in a place that is only mine.
I do not see her as one of many sins,
but more like where a heavenly life begins.