You know she's a flutist because
she strikes up to join the rest of her band
with her shoulders powdery white and
bare despite il maestro's orders.
But nobody minds and all eyes turn to her
watching how her long dress skates at her heels
and her frilly bodice clutches her chest.
When she tunes, she doesn't play, instead
her lips touch its place and she breathes
as if the gold will melt
when she plays forte con passione.
No one can match the way her breasts move
with each breath she takes
as she sings sweetly on silver.
Even the brass quiet as she begins her solo--
the clarinet squeak is unnoticed.
Pianissimo crescendo a forte
The gold doesn't melt, but
her face lights up as if music has
ignited her soul.
Tu canta dolcemente, mia amore.