Ah, such music.
The twang of your song
trills with destination,
flows in and out of my ears,
soft ears deftly teased
by the bop-de-wop
of warm breath, the hum
of moist secrets riding and sliding
on the tip of your tongue,
of dark hands strumming chords
from memory
on the backs of my knees,
fingertips touching all the keys
as lips trumpet on drum-tight skin
all the way down the spine bass-line,
fiddling around….
