Rosy poplar skin shines through your finish while my practiced hands carefully coax a melody. A voice that shames the ancient Sirens wails my passions alive, sings the fury of my fantasy. Speedy tempo brings no sharp cry of pain while rhythmic energy floods the warm dusky abode. The sinful tempo soars. Fingers reach, pick, flail for that ardent crest.
Tremolos roll like waves under the skin.
The sweet acme comes in a spurt. The last ring of your song whispers softly good night. I wrap your delicate body in peaceful darkness.