dumb.
i sit
at my
desk
fighting
tears.
i’m not
sure why.
i did not
know you.
only the
music.
only
that
persona,
staged.
a dynamo
whirling
in heels,
squeals:
his,
ours,
guitar –
in complete
control,
every
move,
every
beat,
every
eye.
some
songs
shape
you
(in your
youth);
some
songs
stay.
long
after
this
day,
still
i will
sing
your
songs.
