As Long As Canto Lasts

I’ll be around as long as canto lasts. The beat of drum, a naked blast of sweat. My skirt, a round, chases the breathless casts of oxygen - the faces red - oh my - and so is mine. The passion fire. I sigh… Of sticks and stones that create hate - my bones do ache and amplify sensuous zones. The opera, unusual, its drums that speak of life and death - skull and crossbones. When the fat lady rests, my heart succumbs.