If You Love Me

If you love me, buy me a xylophone, that I may limber through percussion to find melody. I do not mind tin tones, do you? The colors of the strips mean less than their length I memorize to help expect what will arrive post-touch. I have dreamed of a performance, a quiet one the opposite of Carnegie Hall, pitched to match accordion perhaps without the glutted sway and schmaltz. I hear simplicity in one tone at a time beneath the thought that works my hands. If you love me, buy a ticket to my program only you will be invited to attend, and plan a sitting ovation following the opus named for you. Remember to save the program, an original I've dedicated to your oversight and sense of hearing. 

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