There is a feeling
as if the purest oxygen
filled your lungs
when she is near.
I was lost in a trance
but heard all the mimes and monks
sing Che Gelida Manina
as loud as they could
just to get her attention.
Cold hands indeed, Puccini,
for the warmth is a raging furnace
in her heart.
I’ll not be Rodolfo; please don’t be Mimi.
I’ll take your hand
if you want me to,
only if you want me to.
But I’ll still sing love in my heart.
The Unnecessary Blog 