Cello
Skirt hiked up
legs ungracefully spread,
sexually inviting.
The cello drums her,
blind angels
gyrate in a deep darkness.
The cellos voice is her own,
her body sings through
one hollowing mouth.
I am mesmerized by her closed eyes,
her moon drenched emotions.
The bow is low
it nudges me somewhere,
there is no name for that place,
it is somewhere inside a sadness,
a cavern of fading echoes
where joy waits
to be noticed.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment