Polished wood and coarse strings,
Curled against her neck.
From a stage his voice rings,
Awash in the hazy glow.
She swings to life in fragile song,
Notes embracing as their voices cry.
His crescendo sweeps through the throng,
Their music longing to be in concert.
Fear stifles their measure and rushes in,
Choking chance as it emerges.
Yet, be it fate or promised sin,
Strength finds hope and takes hold.
Together in selective art,
The pair gives boldness to desire.
Her strings pull his heart,
His words stroke wounds beneath her cheek.
To the faded pages of weathered tomes,
They trust their whispers and their dreams.
Finding love in shadowed catacombs,
Rays of light too precious to touch.
With increasing fervor her arm moves,
Coaxing melody from rigid strands.
His hand traces singing wood and carven grooves,
Until his meets hers and reason is lost.
Breath caught, eyes are locked and the song renewed,
Arms entwined they move as one.
The melody changes, no longer a phrase lost to solitude,
But a concerto of broken bar lines and seamless song.
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