A room called Seb's, neon lit, wooden chairs

and drinks to awaken sleepy taste palate,

A dreamy set of fingers singing on a piano from Paris,

Rose on the flat note and after, dropped low and was slower

With each keystroke and the magic leaving

Was beautiful in death so we didn't see it.

Then it stopped with its last breath

And it was gone! —since, the silence is left

and a memory that is not the magic we felt.