She lives in the spaces between her breaths
and moves in subtle twitches, perfect form.
I watch and wait while she sits motionless,
a calm before the tragic threat of storm.
She plays an open cavern, cradled tight
between white knees, pale thighs warm on cold wood.
A stroke, a groan, her sound meant to ignite
in you abandon, wild, misunderstood.
There is no paintbrush moving these colors.
I follow only flexing of fingers,
an intricate dance, tango of allure
as the glide of the bow pauses, lingers.
The symphony springs to life in my ears
but hers the only music that I hear.
Originally published in the Spring 2015 edition of The Helix magazine.