I Have Music in my Blood
I swear.
Every paper cut reveals a soft string
of woodwind staccatos
and cello crescendos,
the diminuendos of the timpani.
An orchestra of delicacy.
The rhythms your blood carries
mapped out in veins.
Pulsing allegro life
welling up to puddles on your fingertips
pianissimo acoustics
echoes of the strong beat inside.
If we slit the soft walls,
the chambers of your blood
loosed to the world of wind and light,
your cells would let low brass speak,
the oboes and violas,
bassoons and piccolos
play their rhythms quiet-strong.
A concerto of blood.
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