Who made you a cello? Who made me a bow?
Who strung our long veins and plays our short breath?
Why does his hand tremble when squeezing your throat --
When he drags the bow across your flayed chest?
Who rhymed our two bodies in one longing rhythm?
Who looks for my songs in your wooden bones,
When he drags my body across your five strings,
And renders my creak in your seven notes?
Who made you the cello with five metal veins?
Who made me the bow for flaying your skin?
Who boils our two voices in one jagged breath,
When melting his strings to mix with his winds?