Violin

Play me…
for I am the strings
that tremble under your
bow. I am the crescendo
that swells and the
aching vibrato
that drops
off the
end of
each
note.
In the
quietly
delicious
pause before
the notes rise
and rise again,
I’m the sweet
melancholious
stroke, just
one octave
above
bliss
with
pitches
high and
purring lows.
I am the words
that can’t speak
but only through
your hovering
touch, do I
even have
a voice.
I’m the
ardor
lifted
until my
song at last
released in ebbs
and flow as my tears
surrender with every
reverberant cadenza.
You’re my virtuoso
that plays with
euphoric burn
and passion,
yearning
with
each
low
and
fragile
tone, you
kindle and
play upon my
tender strings.
I was tuneless
in dusty neglect
until you lovingly
removed me from my
case and raised me up.
Now cradled in the hollow
of your heart, lift me
to your chin… and
play me.

Β© Literary Remains

34 thoughts on “Violin

  1. I was tuneless
    in dusty neglect
    until you lovingly
    removed me from my
    case and raised me up.
    Now cradled in the hollow
    of your heart, lift me
    to your chin… and
    play me.
    What a magnificent image. So profoundly tender in what it conveys. Beautiful!

    Liked by 1 person

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