The Instrument

The roundness of your buttocks
is mirrored by your balls
begging for my touch.
The softness under my hands
reluctantly yielding to each squeeze.
I pull my nails over your skin.
Caressing your legs
I feel the firmness in your muscles.
You harden between my lips.
I play the flute
a concert for you.
Your hair tickles my nose.
Soft and hard
in my hands
in my mouth.
Your hands through my hair
your sigh
your relief.
I play your body
like an orchestra,
making you sing
like a wolf
in the night.