Violins
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.
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