i've heard
the percussion snaring
up the years, a back
bone i thought.
trum pets and trom
bones, i've loved!
found your violin and
given away my
oboe, i've cried!
but this body is
not
a bassoon.
a piccolo.
a french horn.
i know in order for an orchestra to exist,
performers must
make love,
but i don't play any instruments