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
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