(3 Charlatos 5115; moments after midnight, an aside from the Harp)
Her arms rock me with every measure; her fingers graze across my strings, fated to lift me to heights I could never reach without her. I hear her queries to me: in her voice, in her music, in her body.
I offer her my best, and there, she sings the descant with me, moving around my offered notes with a tender grace. Ach! I reach once more for her…
“Yes … yes! Beloved, hear me, trust me. Lead me, I am all for you, with you. I am yours. Be mine?”
There is a wistful sigh upon her breath, and her music turns to a brilliant phrase. I wonder if that is an answer. No, she continues to play. It is the promise of an answer, she teases me so!
The insistent beat becomes my bane;
O, how do I live through this?
This ache, for her, consumes me!
