Beethoven's Last String Quartet
I love your old eyes.
I love where they take me,
to castles in the park
overlooking the lake,
with quiet voices
explaining passions,
to lessons taught with charm.
We could laugh in that
muffled way with gently
tightened throats.
We use things made of
polished wood and glass
genuine things.
We are in control.
I love that.
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