A strange night ends
In meaningless morning.
Sebastian plays calming
Chords just out of sight
But, I’m confused again:
Which of us is
Truly playing?
Who’s the composer
And who is composed?
And what have I lost?
At first I thought a script,
Then, the refined runes
Of a score which
No one was keeping.
A musical notation to
Fix the melodic pose,
The harmonic of
The underclothes.
Tweak and trim until
It’s time to leave
And we’re dressed to kill.
The sheet upon the
Podium gleams pristine
Stripped of its notes,
Leaving but lines
On paper
In black distress.
