I nibble at your thigh
like a guitarist has a go at his strings
the strings that sound
make sounds that are music
from between your thighs
out a noise
breaking rhythm
dashing to the crescendo
steadily, certainly not slowly
moan starts turning to beats
our hearts playing the fiddle
to your music
my fingers dancing
to the flaps of your doors
each whisk, telling a story
with its own notes
producing our mating call
grabbing the sheets
pacing up and down
like a runner before his big race
until I stop and wait
watch and let you heave
I go in
to hear your sing
from between your thighs.
(Artwork by Shreya Dalmia)
