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The poem- she.
An act of heartstrings deftly tuned to be just barely dissonant.
Capturing your senses and grating on your mind until you can't
Bear not to hear it, to see her bare.
Sliding up in a lonely harmony with the sound waves just barely out of synch;
How long will you listen to the impious euphony?
She takes you high and just lofty enough to see, but blurs your vision
Sound sinking down because not hearing perfection leaves you wanting more
and she plays on... and on... and every moment wishing it would fall into place.
The bow- gold.
The wood- spruce.
You want to see her unclothed, dancing this sick charade of you.
Flowing, flowing through tulip step and rose wind
but that pungent cacophony on the strings! So titillating the taste...
Somewhere, she plucks one note and there-
A stretching of the fibers puts it all in place
Water rushes the scent away and leaves you remembering
Why you started with her, the poem.


((The question is whether or not I should combine these two. I think not- the mood shift that would occur where this parenthetical is is way too sharp.))


The sonnet- he.
Leering at you from behind a nothing veil.
Soft the touch on bare flesh he's searching for the ivory heart
To tickle. Everything has been made ready
he stalks with the sound, to play dirtily deep,
fingering unexpected chords to keep you pleasantly
High on your toes. He's cut wire just to draw you in; an artist with a fishhook.
You lose something every time you hear him play.
Because he's empty there;
Only groans escape his inarticulate hands as they
Feel their way along and down every, every hungry scale.
Maybe "I love you" makes its way out of this major feeling,
but it's a hormone of a note; an accidental minor reminding you
That he's barely holding it in, waiting for the rise
into the next key; maybe this one unlocks the door.
He's like diamonds on manacles and silk tying you to the bedpost.
What he meant was... nothing more than to play you.
A love sonnet.


Jeez, the first one felt like it was so easy and made so much sense and the second one just feels bland. You know all those poems that just make you feel like you need to take a shower after reading them? That's what the second one is trying to be- I've never attempted something like that before. Anyway...

Tests are over! Let the weekend begin!