Sunday, August 27, 2023



Of the stringed instruments, violins are sexiest—

That narrow tapered waist,

The thin neck emerging from the upper bout

Like a bare calf beneath a skirt

Terminating in the carved scroll

Like toes curled into the carpet.

The plaintive sounds seem to come

From the dark holes of your eyes

With my hands wrapped around 

Your stringed fingerboard.

I whisper this is making love

Into mysterious dark portals

Without knowing where the words go.

Oh if we could make this last

To somehow forget for a few minutes

More that this is the same song played

On the day of all death,

Not as surging climax

But somber adagio for strings 

Swelling to bittersweet shattering

Two sides of the same cadenza

Tossed as a coin into the void 

Flipping as it falls 

From death to love,

And love unto death.


No comments: