a special play when your fingers stray
more memories covered by obvious occurrence
wait for the sun to go down cut back the power
at midnight under the spell of the serene, in the witching hour
there is a secret favor a reach for droplets
softcopy in darkened inclination of the amulet
the trickle can tickle the connection, if any, is obscure
an implored feeling sometimes impossible to procure
it is easy to stroke, as provided stimuli provoke
but when you cannot find the right key stroke
it is just a case of guilt ware without a scene
with one finger on the pulse seeing Selene
strain strings, faster then is needed velvet petals falling
strings strain listen to the low hum of a strum
the appetite, in the night it enters perfection of the sum
it is the utmost of hunger hear this lonely voice of longing calling