Still wet from the outdoors,
Though an umbrella had sheltered them both

As they entered the warmth of her abode,
Every inch positively charged
Vintage sounds play,
amid the static from the record

The background music was fitting
The decadence of scented candles,
burning to Stevie Wonder’s visions
The enchantment of mellifluous strings at the unveiling,
as she unfastened the clasp of her bra

Demure had been her persona, until she had him alone behind closed doors
His forbearance could hold no longer
Of his feelings, preparing to reveal his innermost,
relinquishing all control

Accomplished in the art of seduction
To the cynosure of her eyes he had fallen willing victim
Gripping tightly to her flanks
In a thrusting conversation,
between the centre of her womanhood and his mouthpiece,
A swift intoxication from the elixir of a skilful vixen

Slowly working his bow across her cello,
Tuning explicitly to the perfect pitch of her femininity
Master in the craft of new sensations
Principles of pleasure
Never had two shared such equanimity



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