Making Music

Just Read

He likes the way the I move
As I move to the beat of his drum
Screaming his name, scratching his back
Until the morning sun
The violins play on

Background music makes love in the air
Our souls swaying from left to right
His fingers combing through my hair
My life's dependent grows silent
The flute continues to whistle

Addicted to his toxic fume
I draw closer and closer
Closer to the sound of his thoughts
And the rhythm of his mind
The trumpet yells

Closing my eyes, I see the end
Chronophobia. The Clock of Aspiration.
Cymbals clash harder. Sax plays faster.
Erotic breathing and displaced moans.
The piano tingles

Realization and contemplation
The sounds of love become dim
Real world comes back into play
We walk away from the stare of love
Making music with our eyes