Violin

Though

closed

and

latched,

your

case

opened

easily.

You lay inside it,

burnished and brown,

perfectly seasoned with age.

My fingers danced gently, firmly

along your neck. Your body

vibrated, resonated,

amplifying your

melodious moans

as I stroked your

strings in my imagination.

Precious treasure, you are not

mine, but your exquisite

voice still sings a jazz

lullaby in my

dreams.

Copyright 2017 by Maria Thompson Corley