Frisky Friday :: Beethoven

It was the press of the gold pedal-

a clumsy, young kiss to my calf muscle-

Sonata No. 14’s minor strokes rippling,

dark water disturbed by a falling leaf,

out from under my reaching fingers.

The ache of longing,

a melancholy thirst,

shattering, shaping build

of a budding child

meeting a woman’s passion

face to face,

touching palm to palm

with velvet ivory and ebony fire.

Even now those chords,

wrapped in moonlight and the burning

tug of abdominal muscles-

‘hard breath, goosebumps, hard breath’-

caress the brim of my center;

gentle notes heating my core

with a wicked shadow,

a rock-candy devilry,

adagio immorality dripping

chills down my legs.

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