Passion Cello
Between two silky thighs apart,
flaming cello with a beating heart,
lovely limbs and lovely sounds,
erotic prelude to a weeping cantata,
crimson gates to the hinterland
where the crumpled skirts are raised,
to her secret hide away in the blue mist,
gently stroking with her slender fingers,
her bow drenched in honey and spices
sliding across the quivering strings
of her wooden lover
cradled between her thighs,
her home, his home, his paradise,
his heart dancing out of his chest,
his trembling fingers sedated by her touch,
his voice made pure by her sensitivity,
his passion that runs with her passion,
his music that echoes her music,
his tears mixing with her tears,
nectar of the Gods of Music
dripping down upon the floor,
the platform for her lovely feet,
a cantata of erotic sadness
positioned between her creamy thighs,
between the walls of bliss,
music that quickens the blood,
that surges through the heated veins,
that runs into the wild
and plays with the cheetahs,
music that colors the rain
and melts the callous heart,
the music, her music, his music,
her rivers, his gondolas,
her voice, his pleasure,
music that brings heaven to earth,
that reaches into the groin
from the cellos of heated bliss
cradled between her creamy thighs,
from her home of his home,
she transforms wood into sound.
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