Vivaldi's Rain

Maestro - with his bow and whip;
he sips the wine too slowly.

Maestro - I have reshaped my mouth
for you. Sung, the screaming
in Latin. French. Italian.
All to hear the rain's rhythm
fall from the sky, to your check.

Maestro - I have found your Venice.
Sugarized; the gondola floats.

Maestro, I sing.

Maestro - I have laid upon the earth
as a girl vulgarized. Grown into a woman
customized to embody your song.

Maestro, I fear not.

Maestro - the music of a thousand
thunderstorms falls around us. Maestro,
with his belly made of wine. In the streets,
penniless. Maestro, I will sing for you.

Maestro - with his bow and whip;
no longer equipped to find the strange
beauty in me.

Maestro, how you have abandoned me.

Abandoned me, to the salt-green bays
of history. A drenched demon, still
singing of you. Maestro... the rain.

Maestro, with his fingertips.
sinking. smiling. refining the rain
with a bow and a whip.

I will not sip the wine, Maestro,
I will not squander love, like the
child-faced woman who brought you
to me. Whimsical, and wrapped
in mornings haunting glow. I comb
my hair with the thickness of your
words, Maestro. I cover my breasts
with the weight of sound.

Maestro - with his bow and whip;
will he not touch me? Will he not
create the notes from the lip that
calls to him.

Maestro, will you not watch the rain?