The colors dance behind my eyelids in bursts and swirls, splashing across my vision in vibrant variegated hues. They overlap and spin, spattering their motley array of vivid brights and fade-in monochromes until, in the imbrication, an abstraction forms.
Joyous saffron, streaking upward in xanthous delight: head high, arms outstretched, this joyous abstrusion – she, me – leaps across the stage I have created in my mind against the backdrop of pleasure that is my person.
My fingers lead, my body follows; plié, lift, twirl ~ press, bow, repeat.
My clitoris the instrument, my hands the prodigy.
Fingertips setting the tempo, I alone determine the dynamics. Pianissimo crescendos through to the repeat then begins again… and again… through each movement. Cut time, three-quarter waltz, invention precedes fugue, and all the while my heart – a metronome – beats erratic time against my pulse points.
I, the maestro in an orchestra of one.
A sonatina solo performer, I – alone – am the principal dancer in this ballet.
The chromaticity intensifies along with my touch, pressure against my pubic bone lighting each tincture to iridescence. Streaks of color firework through my vision while my fingers paint their music, leading my body in this choreographed carnality.
