Sense the smoothness
Of my skin,
Sweet boy,
With a magical
Violin.
You won't need a bow -
It says "pizzicato" above
My clavicle.
Your fingers tingle.
I'm strewing ashes,
Lowering
My trembling lashes
In a silent plea
For a tremolo
On the single
Mi.
I bruise my hip
Fleeing a sin.
Sweet boy, keep
Playing your
Violin.
Magic Violin
© Copyright: Корнилова Анна, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117012209614
Свидетельство о публикации №117012209614
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