he taps his fingers against my lips
as if he were playing a swift mozart concerto
on the ivory keys of a grand piano
he brushes the back of his hand against my jaw
down my neck to the jut of my collarbones
like a gentle glissando
and there he resumes a slower melody,
each fingertip softly caressing the carved bones
of my body
he smiles and presses his lips against
the nape of my neck
and suddenly he is holding a cello,
his deft fingers trace patterns down my spine
and his hands move lower, splaying out wonderfully warm
against the small of my back
i sigh with closed eyes, hooking my arms
around the harmonic curve of his neck
while he answers back with a quick movement of his thumbs
against my stomach
and now i am a harp, shivering as his fingers go lower and
gently play the cascading strings
i melt into him, curving against his body
he chuckles softly in my ear and says,
“i wonder if you can last a whole orchestra”