Siren s Desire
Staccato? Vibrato? There must be another word I can use for my Erato poem, Erato, the muse of love poetry, damn her name, she makes it quite difficult for us mere mortals. I have binned ‘Castrato’ nothing very loving about having your balls cut off for the sake of maintaining a soprano. Time to take a break from me and my little pink book, my fingers still a little chilly, welcome the warmth of a tin cup as I take a drink in an effort to revive my creative senses. I still curse the alarm call...