Night at the Opera

Music moaned with string quartet,

We were sitting in the balcony, 

Everything was civil, the opera; 

our hearts, like all things dangerous 

tend to be civil at the beginnings, 

echoing with whispers weak, 
soon the pace was set, as if by the warmth 

of her hand or by the color in her cheeks.

Bassoons and clarinets rose in the air, 
at that very moment had her hand, 
even by accident, slipped away from mine, 
I would have died like those---died in Shakespearean tragedy. 

Bold strokes of percussion were accompanied 
with cello, our hearts were palpitating 
with passion, she leaned, 
It was French cologne, and said, 

"Beethoven knows about our little secret."  

Reviews

[Zoya]

That's the kind of poetry people get lost into, I did, at least. Very vivid, evocative. Lovely write!

[Suhd]

Thanks for the ever kind words, Zoe :)

[Zoya]

No worries

[.]

Very nicely written. I liked it :)

[Suhd]

Thanks a lot :)

[.]

You're welcome

[Najam Us Saher]

Dreamy and descriptive at the same time. I feel that you have created an environment of ancient times.

[Suhd]

Thanks for the review.

[Najam Us Saher]

You're welcome.

[.]

For his symphony dictates the passion of the lovers. And the swelling of his symphony aligns with the swelling of their hearts.

A tenderly romantic write, Suhd. That final line sums up the piece perfectly.

Nicely conceived.

[Suhd]

Thanks a lot Doodley for the kind review. I'll return the favor soon.