play me, i'm yours

His fingers play hopscotch
Like synchronized dancing
His eyes – concentrated, consuming
Penetrating notes purge through
Barriers of frigid faces
I see busy businessmen
Weary mothers
Zealous tourists
And lonesome vagabonds
All stop to soak in
Warmth that a summer’s sun could never provide

Transfixed, captivated, mesmerized
How must it feel to drown out
All the pandemonium of New York City?

Notes played by his dexterous hands
Music played by his heart
I see glowing sound waves
Carrying more colors than
An LGBT parade
Hit city pigeons which
Become too paralyzed to take flight

Today, all of Times Square shines for you.