I tap lightly on your ribs.
Guitar, not xylophone,
you laugh my gaucherie away
forcing my talons out and in and down
to draw five irregular strings
across belly,
dripping.
A five string’ed one?
I ask in wonder
as my teeth start plucking the strings
and your gaping mouth reverberates through all possible octaves
from whisper
to scream.
Quindicesima?
I suggest you sally forth
beyond hearing limit
watching the impregnated sun crack
before glowing coal scraps
enchase
our shared loins.
The ten contorted strings down my back
evident
only once I desert the linen
and the awning
of your body.
Author notes
guitar... or is it passion in exactly 100 words?
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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{swoons} 
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...and drive the AUDIENCE dizzy
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Makes me want to learn to play. Beautiful!
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or be played
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WAW! What a music...Quindicesima?...huh...
~Sonja~
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WAW! what a comment
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