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 here?
You, whose lips quiver as
harp strings do,
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.