Consummation

He lifted fingers into the shape of a leafless tree
While his right hand plucked the air like a bluebird nesting
His face cradled by her palm

The sound that came from electric air
Were his tears
Were his first kiss
Were the first time he saw a movie and thought his heroes were performing just for him
Jaw on floor
At magic unfolding so much bigger than he

She could see it all as she looked at him
And began a hymn in a voice
Metallic and soft
Warm and measured
Percussion and string and woodwind
But the sounds were all his own

He placed down the instrument made of lightening
Ran to the solid violin in the corner

He stroked its neck
Cold pegs
Ran his fingers down it strings
And felt heat resonating from its belly
His fingers flinched
As if F-Holes glowed red

He held his bow up to the sunlight
Angular face bisected by the shadow of its curved spine
He concentrated on the sounds around him

Slicing into steel strands,
He allowed a few melodic syllables to escape the strings
Embarrassed though he was seemingly alone

Sound traveled up into his fingers
Down his arm
And into his chest
But his music was nothing close to her voice

Sensing his defeatism
She extended a cottony finger and pressed it to his sternum
Sound echoed from his ribs and flowed back into the instrument and filled the room
He played through the pain

Concentric discs shot from the instrument slicing through his chest
Quaking his lungs
Sending ripples through his breath

The more sound that came
The more clearly he heard her voice
The more D, A, G, then A seared fingertips
The more dust rose from the kiss of bow against strings

Not until she saw his death did she stop
Her voice screeched to a halt
Refused to compose that scene
Removed her fingers from her instrument
So scared for him to be burned alive
But not knowing that's always how he wanted to die