Transcendence
I, stand there in anticipation, waiting, knowing what is to come.
Feeling the heat growing inside me, knowing he will touch me soon.
Standing there solidly framed, beautifully dressed in gold.
Waiting for those hands, those all in composing hands, large and firm.
I can feel his presence...then it happens. He picks me up and holds me.
Firmly braced in his arms, all I can do is quiver.
He starts gently at first stroking me, every fiber of my being comes alive, and then the strokes are harder.
I begin to sing,
A song of desire and passion, of wanting,
A wanting so deep that I can hardly breathe.
I vibrate with a rhythm, with his rhythm, more primeval, more seductive than any other touch that has crossed my body.
He moves faster and more wildly until with each strike I am sure my frame could not possibly hold me together and I will be lost in pieces that could never be put back. I can only stand there leaning into him, hoping never to leave this embrace.
And when all the passion in me has left and all the passion in his hands matches mine, he brings me back, gently caressing me back, touching me back into myself, back into form, back into thought.
And all I can do is quiver and know he will play me again.
Feeling the heat growing inside me, knowing he will touch me soon.
Standing there solidly framed, beautifully dressed in gold.
Waiting for those hands, those all in composing hands, large and firm.
I can feel his presence...then it happens. He picks me up and holds me.
Firmly braced in his arms, all I can do is quiver.
He starts gently at first stroking me, every fiber of my being comes alive, and then the strokes are harder.
I begin to sing,
A song of desire and passion, of wanting,
A wanting so deep that I can hardly breathe.
I vibrate with a rhythm, with his rhythm, more primeval, more seductive than any other touch that has crossed my body.
He moves faster and more wildly until with each strike I am sure my frame could not possibly hold me together and I will be lost in pieces that could never be put back. I can only stand there leaning into him, hoping never to leave this embrace.
And when all the passion in me has left and all the passion in his hands matches mine, he brings me back, gently caressing me back, touching me back into myself, back into form, back into thought.
And all I can do is quiver and know he will play me again.