her hair whipped
cat-of-9-tails
flaying my taut skin
lust raw

bound tight
inescapable
submission
a prisoner of passion
subjected to
her body's device

So now I weep tears of dashed hopes.
The dreadful sorrow cracking and snapping my teasing mind apart as I say a final and tardy goodbye.

But not for you,
But for the man I met all those years ago.
And for the woman that met you.

My one last wishful thought,
Is the greatest of all...
That somewhere our old souls are still prancing carefree and smirking to the pleasure and gift of our love.

She threw to many sharp stones.
So as her glass house tumbled down,
She would pick one of the shards of choir glass off the ground and use it
as a instrument.
Always playing the same violent violin piece across her dynamical skin.

Her mother always knew she had
a gift for music.
So when she heard the same solemn chorus pitching from the living room ceiling,
She darted to steal the show.

And become her daughters duet...her piano,
To hug her so tightly,
Singing and squeezing
Until her violin chords stopped bleeding.