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Poem

I am to him a Stradivarius, a treasured violin
His bow expertly caresses my supple strings
My body moans when tucked beneath his chin
Revving to his rhythmic pulse, my heart sings

I am the delicate ivory he strokes on his keyboard
his adventurous fingers roam over me in staccato
Those romantic interludes he's adeptly scored
accompanies intimacy to the point of crescendo

I am the mouthpiece on his golden saxophone
Our blues brings about passion and lustful desire
From a distance I hear the pitch of a lone trombone
Emotions build with the heat of a roaring wildfire

Across the well worn bridge of his idle acoustic guitar
I yearn for the virtuoso's touch to strum my chords
But there's no harmony, although we've come so far
No gliding glissandos found at the tips of drawn swords

Now he plays mournful melodies on a native Hopi flute
Reflecting our lives in every wistful and somber note
We're both lost, wandering like phantoms in pursuit
of lost love. We're adrift without oars or sail for our boat

With each wave a tear falls as I lay sheltered in the bow
He sits astern listening to music whistled by the wind
staring at the far horizon with worry etched on his brow
Is this, I wonder, punishment for those who have sinned

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