The Composer, The Musician, The Maestro
Staccato:
Tell me how your Christened hands mend
together the torn music notes resting
on my ink blotched canvas. A blank slate,
your disconnected tone stamps a new rhythm.
Pianoforte:
A tonic accent, tentacle finger tips know
how to raise my voice. A melody
weaves: the string of my breast, entangles
your foot around the damper of my song.
Chamber Music:
Twelve rational people conversing. Bass-
drown them with full-blood Cabernet
Sauvignon- your lyrical soliloquy: bread
for your baton? or the King of Grapes:
wine for your concerto?
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