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Last Isn’t Always the Best Color

I’m not good enough to be anything but last.

How do I know?

People keep showing me

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Aside

The Love of a Musician

You play my body like a harp

Plucking my consonant heartstrings

Strumming my musical pleasures

A cadence of body beats

Our moans a choral symphony

Harmonizing in melodious union

The gentle tintinnabulation of your fingers

Caressing me to a crescendo

Diminishing to a lullaby

Words inspired by:
The Love of a Musician
by Ivan Koulakov