Strong current

he holds her like a woman
cradled against his shoulder,
her curves and the
soft shadows of her hollows
warm and subtle,
but the voice is his —

every pluck, every buzz
of a resonant depth
that vibrates the skin
and stirs within,
the drag of bow
a slow
touch that feels its own
tender friction,

his hands move up and down
the smooth neck,
tendons flexing
as fingers slide and reach,
finding precise beat
and intonation,
pulling vibration
from the depths of
a rounded belly —

song of pulse,
song of throat and hips
and soul,
song of earth and tides,
of hush and sigh,
undercurrent
and slow undertow




***

I'm out of town briefly this evening so don't know if I'll be up for posting tomorrow.