blue smoke billowing out from red rooftops angling toward an orange skyline

a room with grey windowsills sat powdered with a glaze of dark grey dust, the clouds of a thunderstorm

caking over the years

a kitten once playing about had decorated the dusty surface of the windowsill with tiny imprints

abandoned spiderwebs nestled in the corners swayed gently, their keepers having moved on

an old pitch black piano stood in the center of a room like a strangely designed monument,
a darkened wooden guitar rested against the wall, its strings curly and pointing all-about
amazing how a room full with so much music,
kept so quite now
the lovers had laid in that room in each others arms and grasp
as the pianists fingers caress the piano's keys and the guitarist gently tucks his guitar and strums beautifully
and so notes floated all-about, some escaping through the cracks in the windowsill, others collecting on the ceiling
they had laid together in that room
along with those instruments
they promised to never let go, of those instruments, or each other
but they could never have imagined the toll that time would take on them,
and it did, and it is so
that two lovers imprints on the dusty floor lay strewn across the floor about this room
that keeps quite, for now