I bind my love
I crop, I cane and whip my love
Because she allows me to
Because she wants to let go
Because she lays her body as an instrument into my hands
for me to play the tune of our love on
woven from the notes of her emotions and the rythm of mine.
An instrument that takes virtuosity to play:
strength, discipline intimate knowledge of the instrument itself
and above all understanding of the tune’s intricate composition.
To someone looking on there seem to be no limits to our play
Because I know and respect your limitations and I do know mine.
In rehearsal we sometimes try to stretch these limits.
If we go too far,
we can always stop, take a break,
help each other up from the little slip
and carry on lovingly.
When the last note has been borne away on hot breath and cool night air
it is time to take good care of the delicate instrument:
Clean it from all soil my clumsy play may have left,
cover it with soft cloth
and tuck it into a safe case
to keep it by my side.
You call this abuse -
Yeah - like it’s noise when a virtuoso plays his Stradivari.
