Friday, April 29, 2011

B is for The Musician

I imagine strings of tousled hair lying freely on my pillow
Or her pillow
Or our chair

I imagine cradling her as she cradles that which cradles her song that cradled her thoughts
And me
Lying there next to strings of tousled hair
From a woman who plays with my heart
As frequently as she plays her strings

And I am the instrument
As she is an instrument
And this smile in her eyes
Echoes the midnight hum of a new chord
That churned within her heart
That leapt up her chest
And burned through her fingers

I imagine kissing fingers
I imagine striking a chord with navels
Till the sound of the flute escapes from her lips

I imagine many things as the thought passes and dances…
A heart that beats 150 beats per minute
A body that sings in the cool of the day
A chorus of giggles that lead you to bed
And strings of tousled hair
Lying freely on my pillow or her pillow
Or our chair

The Musician
April 29th, 2011
© Tracy j Hutchings

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