…and there is no grand gesture of acknowledging the audience’s applause

as the violinist stands perfectly still, watching,

waiting,

for the small, unseen blazing wink

that tells her to slowly, without mercy, break some hearts.

It matters not at all, what the violinist wears, for the assassin’s bow

gently pierces the skin and boils the blood of the victim

and she slowly places the breathe

in play in which the body can bear no longer, the beauty contained within.

The long drawn out note, the gentle scream that drives me mad