You are so silent 

 your weight on me a warmth, 

passion wrapped about you in a golden halo 

 The only sounds you make are breaths, 

little winds; breaths, and the occasional murmur, 

a consecrated fragment of ritual and sex -

 it is I who must scream out for you 

wailing like a gypsy violin, a Devil's daughter, 

strung all of taut catgut and hollow spaces 

 music made from fire and longing 

rips from my body 

 to defy the silence of night