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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.