my love, her spiritual body bowed in my arms.....,
the instrument and I, holding her, tenderly..., gently........,
the bow alternating arco, and then pizzicato glisandi,
with piccato producing such rich vibrato in the bowl of her mind
...and then Martelé reverberating resonance in her deepest being
enabling emotional-staccato then migrating to sublime legato
as her back arche, and eyes, flutteringly close
an angels’ whispered cry form on her lips, from deep inside her soul
unheard pleasant, melodius timber present
rising to soprano, in its purest form
the cantabile recorded by the angels, to take home with them
...to listen too, over and over
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I would like to translate this poem