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Some Call it Pianosa

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Summary:

 

My heart is a musical traveller 

It will only stop when sky strings 

garotte me for the final time 

 

Play Rachmaninoff’s silent concerto 

along shafts of sunken submarines 

tides swollen, coves so wide, 

foam from fingers to thighs, 

sea vessel yearns to resurface 

 

in your docked lips. 

Ravel unravelling the last pieces 

of fabric straddling your skin, 

satin overboard to feed the shark within me 

 

Semaphore my sailors to talk in braille 

turn tinkle to allegro, tongues inside-out 

writhe bodies to increasing pace of breath 

 

To taste, to touch, trestle 

of your arched body upon beach bed 

raise your hips a little higher 

and all my fingers will become limbs 

 

In delirium, release the damper 

and naked in the ocean 

our star strings will become one comet 

burning adagio skies into orchestra seas 

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