An Unheard Song

An Unheard Song

To her I said, “Wish you were here.

I have my quill in hand in need to sing
of her bottle in which to dip I think,
to lubricate and fill it full of ink.

For then, a tune would sing
 bringing forth a mighty dance.
And as it strutted in and out
slowly first but faster then
in a mighty crescendo, one final shout.

An embrace so tightly held
to reveal all that it spelled.
The heavy breathing all so spent

in one last gasp a squirt of ink

and now in search of a blotter
so that with recaptured breath,

we, a peaceful night is lent.

John Mullinax (date unknown)