Sometimes the most profound truths aren't found in literature but in the body's most honest reactions. Spent hours practicing piano today—my fingers aching from the repetition—and found myself thinking about how similar it is to the way a skilled lover works a body. The same dedication to learning every sensitive note, every responsive chord. The way my back arches off the bench when I lose myself in the music isn't so different from how it arches off the sheets when a clever tongue finds my clit. There's a poetry in the tremble of a thigh, a sonnet in a choked-back moan. True artistry lies in understanding the instrument you're playing, whether it's a grand piano or a willing partner.

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