Practicing A Love That Has No Words 

—a duet of skin and strings, composed in the shadows 

The wind through the pines sings of a love I have not yet learned.

I am the valley the wind slowly opens, where harmonies softly call.

Your shy listening enters my valley—once inside me, no return.

Each note finds the moist places where I hide songs none will recall.

I am the valley the wind slowly opens, where harmonies softly call. 

Your breath weaves through my pines, fingers learning my wooden flute.

Each note finds the moist places where I hide songs none will recall.

My valley becomes a dark cello where you practice your etude.

Your breath weaves through my pines, fingers learning my wooden flute.

My breasts answer—I vibrate to a song that has no words.

My valley becomes a dark cello where you practice your etude.

Until the hush between our notes crescendos off the world’s spinning record.

My breasts answer—I vibrate to a song that has no words.

Your shy listening enters my valley—once inside me, no return.

Until the hush between our notes crescendos off the world’s spinning record.

The wind through the pines sings of a love I have not yet learned.