Misdirection

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.