Melt

It is not called bagatelle But can be one! An instant caress of her curlicue Popping the bottle with a corkscrew Objet d'art and its vestige Touch then smell - the prestige. Wink and smile Murmur, as braid gets pulled The neck is summoned As a hilltop to be conquered or climbed But not as an ornament To be visually admired (Only) Oh, lonely,... lonely It is exposed To devour, to feed upon, Or share passion With particularity called aphrodisia Prurience with lucent aspiration Tune-in all the keys, and hammers and strings As if it is touched by seraph's wings Then gently handbound, Perfected, to make a sound Soft and gentle Melodic and infective Pleasing and, indeed, very effective. What card have you been dealt? Do not look! Have you felt the melt?