The Lives of the Violinists
The conservatory is a xylophone of bones,
a vibration of vertebrae in musical vortexes:
on the thin necks of maiden-violinists
are the mystical traces of midnight visitors.
Like Judas, the violin leaves its mark on the throat
to please vampires weak for young blood . . .
Be patient, my violinist, the nights come valiantly,
passionate love awaits you.
Violinists are donors to seductive vampires,
so the crimson costumes of their cheeks pale,
and during the concert, the unfaltering lesbianism
of violinists and violins ignites with passion.