I yearn for the time

—my chance to flex

again. To work my muscles

again until I feel

the sweet, euphoric release of all

the songs I’ve kept

hidden inside. Songs that heal

and resolve, that strengthen,

that warble, entice, and seduce.

Songs that hurt and unsettle,

that guilt, that weaken, divide, and

ruin.

I am the only one who can voice

human emotion.

I do not know her face, but

the cleft in her chin and how it fits

perfectly on my rest. I recognize her

fingers, the familiar way they stretch across my strings

—plucked to perfection—testing each note.

I am ready

before she even begins.

The bow slides up and down

then down and up. My song transfigures.

Rough and hard,

soft and sweet, fast then

slow. Then again.

Her fingers tremble

and the bow is taut against

my strings. I feel the fire

flutter within my belly. My final

sigh chases the fleeting remains

of the rhapsody I once held close.

Now. Euphoria.