You say you are not musical
You, whose voice I have heard in dim light
whose shoulders sing of bliss?
Listen to the hum of your spine
as I trace fingers down either side,
you doubt there is music
You, whose lips quiver as harp strings
when my mouth finds the back of your neck.
When your arms enfold me.
and take in all my choruses, my echoes
there is music here, yes
but only with accompaniment