Cello

She leaned, forlorn against a weathered wall,
no hall to fill with song.

Slender neck, adorned in scrolls of curl,
poised itself in wait of charm extended–
for strings had not yet dimpled at fingers deft,
nor had she known the spring of ample stroking.

He came to her, with understanding hand
and eyes that fell at frame of curving grace
and dared to stretch his touch to sleekest sides
–her perfectly contoured hourglass,
swollen, for want of play–
and at his lasting trace
her tips edged shyly upward, to be encompassed whole.

When she warmed
and whispered awakened, soft vibrations
he brought his bow, aloft, to supple strings
to slide in flowing motion
above the bending bridge.
With movement skilled he met her lack
caressing back and forth
in gentle adagio that eased woes
and oozed pianissimo through swirled openings
dusting her with richest resin
until she swooned in soothing phrase,
surrendering to his gift.

Mellowed vibrato swelled
and vigor grew
as he persisted
in passion’s modulation
with sweet allegro strokes
and deeper still
’till every space
of hollowed belly resounded
with rigorous crescendo,
filling,

telling love’s concerto.

She rested in exquisite song
of satisfied fermata
and he knew,
through satiated quiet,
she was hand crafted
to sound his music.

- by  ten thousandcicadas

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