Cellist

With her bow she made love to her cello,
her back erect.

Her performance, if you wish, started mellow,
but was never chaste.

I could see the strain in her face
and the secret smile

as if something accomplished
had pleased her.

I could see the sweat
and sometimes her right breast trembled.

She would lean far back,
toss her hair, then reach up to replace it.

Her pale cheeks flushed,
she was thoroughly engaged and never rushed.

Then the piece was through
and, as the clapping began, she stood.

She knew she’d made glorious love
and she knew we knew it.