Tickling the ivories. Smooth, cool, silky. Compulsively drawing the fingers to touch, to feel, to run those fingers along, from top to bottom, from bottom to top. Not even caring the sound to emanate, just to caress the creamy lustre, forgiving and giving upon the skin, sleek and tender. With a gentle stroke, pleasing sonance escapes kissing ears, relaxing mind, body and sole, willing to be embraced and born away upon the floating chords, lifting, lilting from tickled ivories.