A list of things I find romantic.

Vibrato; thick, heavy, powerful, controlled vibrato.

Perfect meter.

Imperfect meter.

Perfect pitch.

Imperfect pitch.

Technique.

Lack of technique.

Experience.

Vocabulary.

Unsent drafts.

Plane crashes.

Plain crashes.

Quiet friendships.

Suicide letters that go in a special box, that you never live up to. Or die up to.

Improper grammar for the sake of poetry.

Geodesic domes.

Expectations.

Sobriety; perspective. 

Bird nests; homes built of garbage-earth and debris.

Food.

When somebody really knows how to pet a cat. I mean really knows.

Drowning.

Asphyxiation.

Out-of tune-pianos. 

Body farms. 

Graffiti; in hard to reach places. Like painting on my heart. You’re a vandal. A felon. Sandblast it off before the kids see it on their way to school. Problem is, I love graffiti. Lacquer it. Permanent. Fuck you, I think.

Unrequited delusions of grandeur; Reciprocity doesn’t always mean equality. Shit in your own hand, or wish in it, I don’t care anymore. 

Pajamas.

D-minor. 

Flogging yourself in the back. You’ll never see the scars. Even they hide from you.

Food, again.

Trills and ornaments.

Travailing melisma and delicate, lyrical phrasing.

Bow control. From frog to tip.

Diminuendo, more than crescendo.

Death.

           Dying.

                      Dead. 

Metaphors for the poor.

Life.

           Living.

                         Dead.

Art.

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