She Plays Her Like a Cello

To Play Her Like a Cello

To play her like a cello:
set her form first between my knees
allowing my fingers to gently caress her smooth surface,
the shine of her skin proving to be a sign
of careful attention.
I imagine the music I will make with her,
first hearing it on some distant wind
before committing it to reality.
My hands trace her curves like the sides of the cello—
stroking from slender neck
over soft shoulders and breasts
past the dip of torso to linger at her hips,
savoring the texture of flesh like the grain of wood.
It is then that I bring my hands to her shoulder blades,
palm sliding down her spine languorously,
bowing her back,
strumming the first notes of pleasure from her.
Her spine becomes the strings and frets and chords
and I play her like a cello—
finely tuned and longing to rise to the challenge
of fulfilling her potential.
There is a deep fire in the song of ecstasy she 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 her 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 her neck
and back down again.
My mouth
her body
and the music we create with her eager flesh.

©July 30, 2005