THE FLUTE GIRL SONG
I was making music for the men,
Music of the highest kind,
Enjoying the divine wind in my chest, my lips pressed in enthusiasm.
My hips swayed, releasing me to play, exposing myself/not myself, at ease, despite their intentions.
And they could not help but watch, but listen as I moved, as I moved them to feel, to remember.
Their desire, their being, touching me without touch, intoxicating, frightening, alive.
I am beautiful, I think, knowing myself in the song.
And then they dismissed me.
Only I did not go, I remained, dancing on each of their heads, a lingering note.
A lingering note until he/she/they invited me/us back,
To give birth to music of the highest kind
both in body and soul.