Master andMuse

She is restless tonight, unable to sleep.

Usually my music soothes her, freeing her to dream,

but now she is awake, moody and tense.

She watches me at my writing,

thinking I do not see her peeking from her shadowed alcove.

I replay the phrase,

making a careful notation on the page,

and the scratch of pen to parchment draws her eyes.

As I begin playing again I close my eyes,

hearing her light steps carry her

from one side of the room to the other, wary eyes never leaving me.

She circles me widely, leaving plenty of room between us,

but the lure of the music –

and her curiosity to learn what I'm about –

draws her, an irresitible lure.

She comes nearer,

taut as a bowstring,

ready to bolt if I move too suddenly.

Opening my eyes, I motion her towards me,

fingers not missing a single note on the gleaming ivory keys.

She regards me solemnly with wide eyes, seems about to pull away –

then changes her mind and settles gently upon the bench at my side.

So near, and yet so far.

I nod, smiling with satisfaction, and instead of reaching for her,

I continue to play, a cascade of notes both gentle and coaxing.

Her eyes, so solemn and bright in her pale face,

are entranced by my dancing fingers.

In the back of my mind,

the only part not completely absorbed by the music,

I can feel her apprehension dwindle,

replaced by a soft lassitude,

though a golden thread of tension still winds through her.

Her head nods as she leans gently against me –

the lightest of touches, of which I am completely aware –

until her face brushes my forearm.

Daring, I return the pressure lightly, and a thrill of delight

runs through me as she rubs her cheek caressingly against my arm,

her eyes closed.

She has never seemed more feline.

Pulling reluctantly away, I lean forward

to make another correction to the score before me.

One hand returns to the keys.

The other hovers a moment before lightly stroking

her head, bringing a pleased gleam to her softly glowing eyes.

The music and my touch have worked their magic,

and she is now fair prey.

Smoothly, without missing a beat, I wrap one arm around her

and draw her closer, shifting to pull her onto my lap.

I know she will not resist.

She makes a token effort, wriggling languidly,

but does not seek to really escape.

My heart surges with exhileration – this is audacity, indeed!

Another time she would have run, or lashed out indignantly with sharp nails –

but now she surrenders to me,

curling against me even when I release her

to return both hands to the keys.

The music surges.

Her body is warm against mine as I lean into her,

swaying gently, rocking her.

Her eyes gleam as she flicks them up,

turning her head just enough to glance to my face –

I almost think I see her smile sweetly as she licks her lips

as though contemplating a saucer of cream,

before nestling deeper against me.

I dare to drop one hand from the keys again,

stroking her head, brushing my fingers down her smooth cheek,

then down her neck.

Tenderly arching to my touch, a pleased sound escapes her throat –

any thoughts of keeping aloof have deserted her,

and she is mine.

Playing on with one hand, I stroke her again,

humming contentedly in my throat as my fingers drift

over her soft, pliant body, curled so sweetly into my lap.

A slave to temptation,

I know the moment cannot last,

even as my hand brushes her velvet breast,

then down, down,

to stroke her soft belly

and the warm fur hidden between her legs.

Eyes flying open, she flails suddenly,

clutching at me with teeth and claws, and,

hissing,

she flies from the bench.

Sighing, I nurse my wounded hand as

Ayesha stalks indignantly back to her shadowy alcove,

then return it to the keys,

losing myself again in the music and the soft glow of the candlelight,

feeling her wide eyes upon me again as I play long into the night.

AMH
1 April 2005