You tell stories with your fingers

You tell stories with your fingers.
They unlock your jaw,
Cinched together by rusty blood.
Tarnished copper crowns
Tear your cheeks and gums,
And they taste like the soap
Slipped between your teeth
By those who would call you Brother.
Keys open dusty chests to reveal elegiac notes,
Written longhand on paper stained with insomnia
And a glass of whiskey for every piece.
History as rich as reflections melts in your hands,
Tattooing them ebony and ivory.