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Cello

Sorrow climbs its roofless tower Descends to be thigh deep – genitalia deep. Now it has the weight of rain clouds. A smoked umber moves through an invisible throat. Fine hairs are stroked to arousal. A drowning wrist above a whirring hand. Pressure rubs saturated sounds from probing fingers. The belly of a curving drum thrums, moves us to a place where nothing matters but the next note.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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Date: 10/17/2019 1:52:00 PM
A whispered "wow". The cello is pretty damn sexy.
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Ashford Avatar
Eric Ashford
Date: 10/17/2019 2:17:00 PM
Hi Maureen, thanks for appreciating these steamy abstract notes. I play the kazoo in a similar way :-)