Ode to Misplaced Love, the edited version

Her eyes are closed, her breathing ragged, harsh

And if they open they are glazed and can’t

Look further than the neck, her eyebrow arched

Her fingers dancing as she groans and pants.

Your mind, though, won’t be fooled and grabs your ear,

And whispers softly, trembling with a grief,

It’s frightened, knows that you’ll transform a leer

Of concentration into love’s gold leaves.

Her fingers may cause magic, may cause sounds

That titillate the soul and heal the heart,

But don’t permit sweet music’s tones to wound

Your love with one who loves only her art.

Your mind must stop your passions, give you peace,

Your love for music keep, for her release.