A Perfect Note

Placing my hand upon her head,

I brush her as she lie on my bed.

Running my fingers down her neck,

Itching to pluck, first I check

To be sure no one can see us

As we begin to build a truss

Of love and laughter, weep and moan

To house our music, we postpone

All the world’s demands of time;

Our sudden rapture must be a crime

To deny the knocking of the door

Of which each mouth fables lore

Telling stories of working weak

Killing arts before they speak.

So I shut the clanging out

That we may take a roll about

My bedroom filled with shrieking sound

Of lust and pain and stress profound-

Enough to crack the panes of glass

Which mirror lines along my lass,

Upon her body deeply shone

From years of her vibrating tone.

Her edges sparkle like ivory keys

As I adjust her upon my knees

And marvel at her center navel,

How it holds all my world stable

And grounds my feet upon this earth

O!  Her fruit, our time, a dearth!

So as I tune her one last time,

Stopping my hand right on the dime,

I wonder:

Does a Stradivarius guitar

Feel the same ecstasy at bar

As the player in his part

When he conjures a perfect note from her heart?