This music box,
With many locks, and countless knobs,
These melodies play on its strings,
They're nightmares that contain my dreams.

This music box,
A proud disease,
Cannot sustain my faulty sleep.
If I thunder down the walls,
Within, another structure stalls.

O' music box!
Open enclosure that can't release!
Calming madness in a silent stream,
Lined with boulders and a storming breeze!

Collect my thoughts!
Within this music box,
An open sea, yet no sea released.
It tempts me with its pounding waves,
Arrests me, I can hear but I must see.

I am trapped, and just this box can set me free!

as the lyrical string music plays
I can feel your arousal in me as it sways
burning so bright and hot like the sun
scorching each pathway
through the cold trees’ crisp dun
as your mouth opens
and I reach mine inside it
so soft and so warm
I attach my soul to it
and dive deep in the swarm
as the music lulls louder
giving no push
your hands brush my waistline
your ribs brush my bust
your nose bumps my faceline
and I blush
and I blush
rivulets of passion
muted and such
melody’s sharp sliver
of a sheer wanton clutch
after all that we’ve been through

I never oh never
thought I’d love you so much

You made me a mess of your hungry kisses and the strings of your guitar.
I chose to not be the **** you seek

the instrument that he plays
is a bass
and I got it all wrong
until tonight
then I realized
that it fits his personality perfectly

all smooth curves
emitting a deep thrum
brown shellac wood
large like he is and
why did I not actually picture it
correctly until just
a moment ago
not knowing quite
how to feel

and this is a strange
upheaval of the senses

and this is a strange
revelation

so obvious in its answer
yet changes everything

and I fight a growing urge
to be bound within
the tight confines of his brain
the strings of love pulled taught
unveiling the maroon curtain
pulling away the burgundy drape
finding words in which to contemplate
this obscene existence
showing nothing
yet revealing everything while
carefully shoving my memories
somewhere deep in the
rhythmic trenches

where his somber music plays.

The incessant turning of cogs in
an instrument ran by heart
Shambles.
Stoic, admonishing words
frolicking about as frail, free-floating petals.
Beneath it all the clamorous tug gibing with the
Very voices you kissed me with.
Cold, but
unwinding the taut flesh.

I stayed
            though.

By your darkest demons, caressing with
Silk comfort.
Imbuing them with a dancing light lull:
your Reign of Melody.

To projectile your serenading strums,
To stretch out your fingers jangling,
on all the metal of the strings;
Gnashing the ivory saws of your teeth
you severed my bones.

I’ve become your music to trifle
I’ve become your naive, small bell boy.
“We’re not two, but one” you’d say. When
You knew all along, this song steered and dwindled
into paleness.

Sour hush.

You're my perfect little distraction
Not more, for there is no reaction
As you move on in your silly life;
I mean, I don't want to be your wife
Nor anything else tied to your name
For I am not yours nor will I be.
Just a game we play, just words, you see,
Your lips aren't kissable but I
Must confess, your mind I can't deny.
We toy with notions that we could gain
Something out of our bold flirtations
Yet it is all preoccupation
As we both bustle around, away
And keep other sentiments at bay
By clouding them with this silly game.

With no strings attached, none can judge us
And it's one act I don't have to trust.
I can take a deep breath, spill my thoughts
And leave unscathed when it all just rots.

Too many strings are wrapped
around my heart and chest.
With such a knotted mess,
I'll cut the ties
of heavily spun lies;
I'll feel alright again.

The strings
the way I pluck it
gives extra strength
to my soul.
The notes
I try to read
drives my thirst
spirit.
The lyrics
I write in a paper
expresses every single
emotion.
The music
I hear and I make
mends shattered
feeling.

But

The passion
I have
and truly love
seems fading.
The comparison
I get from others
is breaking every
notes.
The people
who are showing that
I am no good
made my paper empty.
Discouragement
scrapes the willing
and hoping
heart.

*-Steph Dionisio, July 26, 2015