Wine in my veins
Soaks me in fields of ripened grapes
Hewn from seeds of blues
That play on my strings,
Traveling up and down the frets.
But the bass line, the steady rhythm
That sustains my desire,
Resounds in recesses of want
That become a need to
Be the instrument
That feeds his soul.
another one to love…
Yeah, hard not to, and I don’t mean the poem. Thanks, sis!