Virtuosa

i mistake the divine as i tend to worship your tune let the music define and then rend what is left of me tilt your neck against mine do pretend i'm all yours to wound it's your touch on my spine that may bend all reality rest the world vacillate through the wires and i'll spend an aeon or two harmonizing the ire to augment the trills properly in staccato desire your movements cleanly cutting through when you're truly inspired you suspend my breath entirely and god heard with such a gentle stroke play your hands on my throat i'm a slave to the bow fingers dance cold and slow with a grip on the scroll trace the strands carve the notes an octave down or so lay entranced in my throes the pegs turn deftly scale through the length of everything i am when i'm your instrument; rosin-drenched strings severed and bled an insanity's musings the echoes resonate within a dream within my head your sonata is playing and when the music fades will i still wake or just be left humming