deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Sky Is Crying
your song, transformed
by the sultry voice
of your beloved Number One;
gifted from those angels
who’d cast their wings aside
for the ripe mortal woman
and had tasted what it was like,
finally touching heaven
from the moment
of my own
transformation
flower to fully flowered,
you were the slow seduction
of my ear-drums,
the sway of my hips,
remembered
as I spent my Saturdays
windows open,
the sweet cool kisses
of the Carolina summer
brushing across my sweaty skin
pausing amidst the clutter
of changing out the laundry
and the never-ending
parade of very big needs
from awfully small bodies,
you reminded me of the days
when I was my own;
when the world out there,
for all its pain and heartbreak
was still worth experiencing;
every single note of it
thanks for the reminder, Stevie
by the sultry voice
of your beloved Number One;
gifted from those angels
who’d cast their wings aside
for the ripe mortal woman
and had tasted what it was like,
finally touching heaven
from the moment
of my own
transformation
flower to fully flowered,
you were the slow seduction
of my ear-drums,
the sway of my hips,
remembered
as I spent my Saturdays
windows open,
the sweet cool kisses
of the Carolina summer
brushing across my sweaty skin
pausing amidst the clutter
of changing out the laundry
and the never-ending
parade of very big needs
from awfully small bodies,
you reminded me of the days
when I was my own;
when the world out there,
for all its pain and heartbreak
was still worth experiencing;
every single note of it
thanks for the reminder, Stevie
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