As I look up to you smiling down to me
hair prickles my neck. Squeezing my chest
to restrain my leaping heart —
icy sweat chills yet thrills me; and you —
the nerve of you — tossing back your head
laughing that joyful, sexy, haughty laugh that’s
echoing up the ivy walls, beyond tiled rooftops
to our farthest star.
Soaring astronauts hear the music of cosmic
spheres — but what is that compared to
this loving symphony I’m hearing as you, bowing,
toss rose petals with lusty kisses to me.
Mozart is taken aback, nay, jealous even,
of this joyful music our love composes.
So, Carissime, if I be the strings and
you our bow — play on, play on.