Painsong

Love's true willsong / Love's low plainsong / Too sweet painsong

I tried to keep my hand high to stop my strong heart from pumping me dry, while I worked on the second stanza of my painsong. Nature had been kind enough to pop the finger like a ripe grape to take the pressure off.

The rugburn became increasingly inflamed, and, through trembling lips, which were pursed as if to whistle, my cure began singing its sublime, plaintive painsong.

I'm undersized and quiet, mousy you think / and it irritates you to see me puffing my mouse cheeks / while I read at my desk. You don't know it's my teeth / my teeth a painsong accompanying what I do