My student plays the melody anew,
With graceful fingers that subtly prance,
From white keys to black, then back again,
While upon my ears, the chorus doth dance.

Seated beside you I watch them move,
With each delicate trill, I carefully follow,
Yet from duty, my mind still wanders,
That's the reason my praise will sound hollow.

For it never was your gentle melodies,
Which encaptured heart and soul,
No, it was your fingers that stole the show,
Allowing lust to consume me whole.

How I envy those keys you caress.
Surely there must be a better way,
For us to make music—oh, so sweet,
Letting our passions be on full display.

Or o'er there before the crackling fireplace.
All night long, your fingers could dance upon me
As my lust-filled strings, thou delicately tune,
My moans would swell in the air as you set them free.

Then, along my thighs our tune you'll play,
With scales drifting higher and higher.
Until finally, with a flourish over place divine,
All of my secret desires you'll inspire.

And at the glorious end of our symphony
With toes curled, I'll cry out the encore.
While losing myself at the edge of all reason
As once more your blessed fingers make my soul soar.

For I—I am your shameful teacher;
As well as your very first piano.