The Anatomy of My Music

To play him like a cello:

set him form first between my knees

allowing my fingers to gently
caress his smooth surface,

the shine of his skin proving to be
a sign

of careful attention.

I imagine the music I will make
with him,

first hearing it on some distant
wind

before committing it to reality.

My hands trace his curves like the
sides of the cello–

stroking from slender neck

over soft yest strong shoulders and chest

past the dip of torso to linger at
his waist,

savoring the texture of flesh like
the grain of wood.

It is then that I bring my hands to
his shoulder blades,

palm sliding down his spine
languorously,

bowing him back,

strumming the first notes of pleasure
from him.

His spine becomes the strings and
frets and chords

and I play him like a cello–

finely tuned and longing to rise to
the challenge

of fulfilling his potential.

There is a deep fire in the song of
ecstasy he plays;

low sonorous moans reaching my ears

driving me to increase my skill for
making music.

I slide my body further down

keeping my living instrument
between my thighs,

my hands pressed to the curve of
his hips

and my mouth becomes the bow my
fingers were;

lips playing tender kisses down
invisible strings

tongue gliding up the spine

from tailbone to the nape of his
neck

and back down again.

My mouth

his body

and the music we create with his
eager flesh