Violin

His fingertips
Caressed my
Finely shaped base
Anointing every etch
And curve with
His touch

Gently he stroked
My strings
Plucking
Each one
By one as
I quietly moaned…

I watched as he
Prepped his
Bow from
Tip to end
Blushing as he
Smiled slyly while
He watched me
Watching
Him

The length of
His pride
Slipping through
His hands
Hardening to
Rhythm of
My breathing

Aching and
Ready for
The show to
Begin…

Then he
Walked over
To me
Slowly taking
In the glory
Of my tiny
Brown frame

He said my name
As he hoisted
Me upon
His shoulder

The 
Music
Began

And with
A vigor
I did quiver

As he
Played
My

Violin.
©Tam 6/25/15

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