song never writ (canta per me)

 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7aELdn8kIE
 
 
so they lived like that, in a small flat.
he just wanted to write. she practiced her guitar, & did chores
at homes in the nice parts of town to bring in a little money.
 
now & then, they got gigs at the local bars & art cafés. she  
fingered her plaintive guitar, to coax love from it. she sang  
the tracks of Nadia Carolina, but in a slower, melodic way,  
that made for easy tears.
 
he had a small drum machine that he programmed with harsh,
compulsive beats, like a heart that was cheap on desire:  
no place in particular to go.
 
the patrons at the bar & in booths, the lonely & forgotten, would
fall into a phantom formation like rag-tag soldiers, marching to
somewhere that wasn’t traced on a map.
 
sometimes he’d steal a pack of cigarettes from the bar. he’d go up  
on the roof to Bogart one, & look for unwritten lyrics in the languid  
dervish dance of the smoke rings. the song that was there because  
the stars ordained it & the moon moaned it, sullen as a blonde torch,  
in the far-gone silence. but maybe it wasn’t meant for him.
 
at night she’d sleep in the crux of his arm, worn out from her chores
& the soft cuts of the guitar strings. he would stare at the ceiling, x-ing
out the hours & the trinkets, bracelets & things, that he couldn’t give
her. sadder still, she didn’t know how pretty she was.
 
they loved each other, I suppose.
the few secular coins, that love is worth…
 
 
(Artist unknown)