Concordia

I wish I had an Italian woman to cheat on.
Knowing me, I wouldn't actually cheat on her,
But I would wish I could convince her
It was so.
I would do it just so she would
Rage and curse me in Italian,
So she would throw family heirlooms at me
And sink her bright red fingernails into my neck.
It would be worth it.
Oh, it would be clarion.
To meet Invidia,
Let her see me hear the venom dripping from her tongue,
Let her hear me see she is not as blithe as the breeze
Nor as casual and carefree as the currents,
Finally, I would have my proof of her passion,
Her self-devouring bitterness,
That she would so easily and quickly mangle
All she claims to cherish
And against which she measures me.
She would not be able to spurn my proof,
My rused rut nailed,
Not with the ruts in my nape
Dripping her Chanel rouge.