The soul singer sings, to the throb of the
saxophone.
His dark deep gravelly resonance bemoans,
His loss of love and grief profound, pours forth.
I was with him, in his evocative lament,
The pangs of unrequited love to me he sent.
Awakening memories of loss, to my pleasure and
discontent.
My man, how my pure love for him he hurt.
I remember, he was flawed, a callous cad, a flirt,
Made me feel unworthy, like an abandoned piece
of dirt.
But the lament remains in my heart,
Thinking of him and why we had to part.
To meet? Wanting pain again to start?
Me a butterfly, attracted to his dangerous flame,
Maybe subconsciously wanting to be burned
again,
Hurling myself towards the heat, to feel the pain,
the same.
The soothing music heals once more,
Like calming balm, on an open sore.
And now forever, content on life’s safe shore.