the violin is struck with passion
strings vibrate and wear thin
tension building, climax unfolding
grabs my hands, tugs me close, and i give in

i feel his hands grip around my hips
tightly, binding me securely, lovingly
pushing me up to this bright light
on a stage so dark it smells like night

my face, defined with an artificial star
a fixed pose, statued in white chalk
his hands dont fall, or loosen, or slip
i float tall until my body dips