Serenade

Every night, he sat outside her
window and played guitar
until his fingers bled
and his brain spun from the melodies
twisting in and out
of his ears.

Every night, she sat inside her
room and pulled a brush
through her hair, humming along,
but never going to the window
to fully enjoy it.

One night, he sat outside her
window and played guitar
and, by eleven, when the moon
had impregnated the sky,
he asked for a drink of water.

This night, she sat inside her
room and pulled a brush
from her drawer, but did not
approach the kitchen, enjoying
the dying songs of the man.

That night, he lie outside her
window and died
while the notes from his guitar
and the groans in his throat
drifted up to her ears.