There was honey on the thigh of her bow
crying in time with his piano steps,
dripping down their hands
into sticky dilated pools
of heavy hymn.
Melting bedroom walls
sucked seconds
off the face of time
like absinthe
Heated heaving breast breaths banged like
heads
on
glass,
the crescendo of notes
digging into the backbone,
and evaporating into
ecstatic echo's of remembrance.
Sara Fielder
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-instrumental/
