the Violin

She floats across the strings of a violin,

 awaiting the signal to sing again.

Melodies over a fragrant wind,

floating into the eeriness,

the sand calmly bellowing out.

She held her bow with a firm grip,

tucked between bones,

she never slips.

A gentle whisper trickles from her lips,

an array of color to drown the noise,

flesh on flesh, forever poised.

She floats across the strings of a violin,

the symphony can steadily dance again,

as they collide within the wind,

an eerily calm descends,

housed between the madness of her hair,

and the dips of her collarbones.