The players assemble,
no preamble.
Instruments revealed from cases,
on daises,
leveled gazes.
A raw,nerve exposed chord
of the flawed,
is struck
Wizened familiar fingers pluck,
strings drawn tight,
under stage lights far too bright.
A cacophony ensues,
inspired,
by half retired thoughts,
of an aged muse.
Briefly they align,
accidentally,
and coincidentally,
merging,
on the verge of some unknown design
But sweat dripping from pores
I'm clutching your hand
as we edge toward the stage door.
Musical scores are drawn,
notes are fired as we duck,
and weave,
lips smile
but beneath
I'm minding grinding teeth,
as we find an excuse to leave
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