Beethoven’s chamber pot beside the piano
revealed a man truly engrossed in his work
when there was nothing else to touch.
Not even another Zelda Fitzgerald, seeking
a Daddy-Daddy-Daddy who
never was what she’s expected
nor was I.
It was all downhill
from the heart.
She rather melted away, like the music,
at the end of the page,
while I expected another.
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