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By it dosent matter Date: 2007 Apr 07 Comment on this Work [[2007.04.07.17.37.9795]] |
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a machinist as he works in the hours his creation has shaped itself from materials found to hand to take it down to ten thousandths of an inch past the capabilities of these tools themselves most machines lack this precision with flaws inherent to each design so a machinist is left to the skill held within control and care to the demand an this is what i thought about in these hours i have worked with same utmost concentration and care your skin i have brought to this darkened hue sharp pains it has taken to so finely tune that the breath of a feather can cross the line pain slash pleasure ensues the string of a violin is thought when vibrations occur to leave our plane for the eleventh dimension to walk back and forth between our two yet create a sound so pure brings tears to a full grown man and i know the nerves themselves can vibrate this way as others will forever only know the pain these tears what form within her eyes are from a place so far removed as i reach out slow to touch this flesh the heat from my fingers alone start a vibration within her skin as it pulls toward yet backs away caught within need and desire so finely caught the skin itself dances to this silent tune and in this will i play this game as if life itself was on the line and in her cry this violin finest tune to her this timeless moment mindless within this voice answering only to herself when she is silent my lips to hers i press this my sweet solvere |