His lips were playing her legs, tucked under her body like sleeping gazelles, surrounded by the foliage of her blue tulle skirt, that matched the pools of her eyes. "I think I lost my dance.", she said. "You'll get it back", he replied, the rythm of his lips percussing against her thighs. "You're just saying that so you can get laid", she said, pulling away her legs and gathering the leaves of her skirt around her knees. "I love you, and I want to make love to you. Is that so terrible?" he asked, bending towards his favorite spot behind her ear. She sighed. "You're either the corniest or the most romantic person I ever met."

She allowed him to play her like a violin; wooden and hollow inside, she lay still beneath his trembling fingers, silent in the serenading caresses of their moonlight sonata.

The next day, she danced perfectly - not a step out of place. Her dressing room was festooned with flowers. She returned home quickly, to put the flowers in water before they died. The dark blue couch echoed the colors of the sky, and the moon peaked through an open sliver of window. Once the flowers were asleep in their vases, the silent violin lay down on the couch and cried.