*the Sentimental Voilinist.

Absence feeds the love we feel,
as the silence makes our music real,
she sits solemnly to play her song,
some moments last forever some only so long.
She strikes her note,
and the ochestra sweeps up,
as a wave of emotion, screaming of love.
The vibration of the notes and keys,
as fleeting and
tremulous as her fading heart,
passions rise, as the meeting of lips,
hands caress the strings
and float lovingly above piano keys.
fingers ride violin curves,
cradling it closer,
as though a lover in passionate kiss.
Above the wave of music is the unheard,
the fading beat of a dying heart.
As we leave so many words unsaid,
as we repose in eros' embrace.
Rest comes to her song,
Under her closed lids tears form,
The cuts from broken strings on her face,
Had stopped her heart before deaths embrace,

she holds on to a voilin she can never again play,
and i love you, words i can never again say.