The Language of Musicality

Nothing became holier than the cosmos

Raised between them. The musicality of

Air, the heated rhythm of their concentrated

Bodies. Her head, like horns against his chest,

A bull’s desire and ecstasy, the scent on his skin,

On her lips, the warmth in her brain, the free fall heart.


She wanted to be full, him within herself,

Dance without words, eyes shut against his collarbone.

The texture of his tongue on her forehead.

The waves within her drummed and smashed against

The heated inner forms, echoes, flying carpets, thunderstorms.

Enveloping him, weaving herself into his material.


His pulse on her cheek humming eternally.

A language, all-powerful, galloping between them,

Incomprehensible, invisible to others. She cradles herself

On his lap, absorbing him wholeheartedly, effortlessly.

She reads traces of herself on his face, sandstorms and

Magma, they know their own song and embody it in unison.


“Femme au Boudoir” by Georges Croegaert (1848-1923) 

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