Her breath was the sweetest guitar strum
Like the silence breaking, beating
Of a dusty, long forgotten drum
Music played without notes for reading

Her voice the long draw of a bow
Across the strings of this worn out heart
An orchestra for a one man show
Waiting patiently for my favorite part

Her hips, the highs and lows
Of a tempo, speeding, speeding
A crescendo before the music slows
My will to resist quickly fleeting

Her siren song a deception so true
Entranced and dismayed
My lively composition turned to blues
By the notes and rhythm so effortlessly played

Like all songs, they have their end
Without a hope and prayer for more
The curtains on our stage, descend
No chance, nor wish, of a love’s encore