He comes and sits by the piano,

last song of the night.

Afterward he’ll be sitting outside.

Looking past the swooning.

He’s looking for her.

She’s pretending to smoke.

She’s looking for him.



It’s been so long.

Not long enough,

since I said the words understood.


I see where I stand.

Wifey number five or was it four?


I see what I mean to you.

I see what I’ll leave behind.



She looks away ashamed.

She knows she’s been staring now.

But he doesn’t care.

She starts walking away.

But he won’t let her.

She jerks her arm away.

Gathers all the class she can muster.

Good show she says.

What else was there to say?




He leads her away from prying eyes.

Until she will go no further.

He doesn’t say how have you been?

And she doesn’t say.

He tells her he had a muse.

But now she’s gone away.

Smart girl she says.




He says he needs to write more love songs.

But he needs his muse.

No other will do.

Only she can feed him waterfalls of words from her sweet lips.

Sweet lips she muttered.

You knew the sweet lips of a siren.

A sirens song.

And those are never unsung.



The End

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