Cry

Meshed together
Dragging along the stained floor
To the seductive rhythm of the violin…

Dress rides up as leg presses inwards
Fingers shape the white clay of her back
Releasing a hushed cry of sweat, love and beast

There are no eyes to watch them
Tense muscles guide them
Taut in each turn
Wrapped in the coil of thigh, hip and glance
Extended limbs return to caress and consume
The dark hollow

Heart to heart they pose
Hands comb his neck; arms slide down her skin
Burning their names in with every touch
A turn of the hand and
He leads her hip into his
Leads her hip into the pool of the damned

There are no voices to listen to
No agitated strumming to move to
The center stands
Undisturbed
Bathed in water

Only a soothing trickle runs down the map of their bodies

Like volcanic breath the silence explodes
Shoots off fire finger to feet
In agony she twists away
Sliding like a serpent from one moment of heat to another

He does not release his hold
Pulling her in to graze her strained flesh
Tight in each turn
Pointed toes, sensual kicks
Head poised to strike, feet quick

Till he drops her down
Knees gliding along the stained floor
In circles of nine
Arms apart and stretched
Her legs—a split of heart and divide of soul—come to rest

The tears dye the violin's cry.

Apeksha Harsh