Some conduct Beethoven, Bach, and Brahms.
Her symphonies crescendo in my arms!
Rita’s my lottery, power ball, clarion call
She’s to me what to Bogie was Becall
My Brazilian maestro; my conductress of love.
Empress from Campinas, female Toscanini from above.
Her playful pizzicatos spread my smiles miles wide.
Her rapturous melodies into my heart they glide.
She fills our abode with rhapsodic amenities.
With her adorable face, her artful extremities.
A cleanliness Goddess with magic baton
Turns mops into flutes, vacuums into oboes.
Her overture meals make knights out of hoboes.
In bed she’s my dearest, sweetest violin,
So fortunate a fellow is me her cello.
Her seductive smile lands square on my chin.
She hath more ways to please than a piano has keys.
When she laughs, trumpets blare; her eyes ensnare.
She’s always there conducting concerti to please.
Her chest’s a concerto in gee whiz major,
Beholding her bosom, I’m an avid star gazer.
To her Brazilian orchestra I listen enraptured.
Still thrilling my heart her sonatas have captured.
Play on, play on amor, play on evermore.
May always there be for love an encore.
When he’s not playing cello or spinning out press releases for PR clients, Tom Madden is writing books, his latest WORDSHINE MAN about how to conduct an orchestra of words that will make writing more inviting.