Music of Bodies

I hated your silent footsteps at the airport, your departure to a station without me, but god knows how much I loved the music of your body between the whiteness of your thighs, the sound hall lay. you and I, musicians of our lusts, a love of music, but without notes, music composed by gasps of pleasure and in the background a chorus of moanings, prayers and extensions, submission and embrace, our bodies were the instruments, and we were the artists then the silent, eyes dressed with tears, and steps of goodbye in Brahms's Hall, only the memory remained, and the red violin that was playing for us, while our bodies were making noisy music somewhere else.