Today in history of art we did Roman wall-painting, studied a freize of musicians from Herculaneum;
fluteplayers - their mouthpieces still fresh-whittled from under the hot lava - master and pupil fingering the stops.
What caught in my throat was not their swift embedding, but how at that last lesson before my parents knew, you took the flute from my lips pressed your mouth to mine and flutter-tongued.
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