Music is his mistress
The strings on his guitar
The keys on the piano –
Choosing patrons at the bar

Her eyes are the Fermata
Her lips the system phrase
The treble clef her body,
Curves that leave you in a daze.

Supporting underneath her
The bass clef holds the stand
Of the mistress and her swan song
Metronomic in her plan

She sings him songs of anger,
Love and lust and life and more.
She’ll bring him to his senses
And remain his constant chore

He’ll never leave her lonesome,
Never left to sing alone.
He’s a man, a mad musician
And his talents she will hone.

It won’t help to try and stop him,
For the mistress calls his name,
And he’ll meet her – ever after –
She’s the patron of his fame.

Keeping tabs on where he’s going,
Where he’s been and where he’ll be,
Is like demonstrating improv
Without knowing in what key.

I can’t fight within this struggle,
The dazed looks and tired hands.
Cause if I truly mattered,
I’d be part of his whole plan.