the refrain;

the guitarist stabbed at tightly-strung strings
lights kissed them, a glow winking across them
the melody rang out, between the chords i could see
Cupid’s arrow aiming at me from the infinite pockets
a musician reaches within, to lock listeners up in chains
of ecstasy, to feel that they have gained a secret escape –
a bit of pleasure from their pain – but the smoke still slinks
seductively, napping in my cup of coffee, the chorus ends,
but it lingers on the singer’s lips, i hesitate, waiting
for the refrain

Poem written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: infinite

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