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Her fingers firmly stroke the keys as
her blood begins to flow and warm them
to the very ends. They loosen, weaving
strands of silver filament, a web of desire.
She feels his eyes caress her neck,
the tiny dip behind her collarbone,
the curve of her spine.

She knows her spell commands him.
Her eyes close and she lets the music
seep from her fingertips, releasing
impish whispers into his ears until the room
melts. They are alone, floating on waves
of gilded variations, voluptuous strings
of adagio softness. Her work is easy,
the notes immaterial. She has him now
without resistance. She will make him sing.