She was Ever Longing to find the partner that could romance her mind, body, and soul like a musician would romance his instrument.
She longed to feel the harpist’s gentle strokes all across her body; the movement would cause the delicate scent of roses and vanilla to warm off her body; drifting like notes for her nose.
The drummer in him would slap her ass like tribal drums; beating out a slow, firm, rhythmic two-step.
He would pluck her nipples like pizzicato strings and she would shudder in vibrato at his touch.
Like a flutist, he would press his lips to her ear with tender passion.
He would tap a tattoo across her clitoris like the keys of trumpet at reveille.
Then his cock would glide in and out of her wet heat like a slide trombone.
She was ever longing to be played like an orchestra, a full concerto in body major.
Author’s Note: This is a poem(ish) I wrote for a friend, once upon a long ago. Ever Longing, my friend, if you ever happen to see this, please know I still think about you at times and I truly hope you have found your Symphonic Conductor by now.