The Violinist Feeling the smooth texture of the hair against the strings, The emerald velvet rests firmly against my skin. Arpeggiating these phrases, l am flowing upon a stream of bygone bliss.
The Violinist

Feeling the smooth texture of the hair against the strings,
The emerald velvet rests firmly against my skin.

Arpeggiating these phrases, l am flowing upon a stream of bygone bliss. music stories
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prefrontex
prefrontex I’m a 26M daydreamer & lover of beauty
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
Original poem that I wrote yesterday, while awake in the late hours of the night.

The Violinist Feeling the smooth texture of the hair against the strings, The emerald velvet rests firmly against my skin. Arpeggiating these phrases, l am flowing upon a stream of bygone bliss.

my heart simply sings, and feels the touch of her parted lips. My eyes begin to glisten as I feel her presence, but her smell is now as hollow as the vibrating maple underneath my chin.

In my mind, I run my fingers against her curves while they dance deftly, producing these milky tones they all like to drink. Can they taste the sanguine wine of her racing pulse, or the warmth of my breath against her bare skin?

I feel her entranced in my spell if just for a moment, a fleeting glimpse, some semblance of her former self. Then a quivering silence, followed by the familiar admiration of friends. Yet amidst applause, I drown in her ocean of innumerable depth once again.

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