~The Studio Felt Cold That Day~
I had never heard her sing before;
for me she was a new experience.
She was well referred by her peers,
a burden, but she made me curious.
Voices meant everything to me.
It was my job to find the best.
And hers carried a wantonness
absent from the rest.
The studio felt cold that day.
But her voice provided steam
like a segment from an erotic dream.
She roared the lyrics, as well as purred
the ones arousing her secrets.
She fought battles, won hearts
and even plagued the innocents.
She sung about women with fury,
women with pain, and women with joy.
Every time she played a character,
her eyes became seductive or coy.
Her lips quivered with suffering
and beamed with happiness.
I reached for her form
and my heart sat, beatless.
She gazed long and deep into my eyes,
letting me find the real beauty she possessed.
Her finger circled my chest,
and I knew I would faint from her caress.
My embrace of her salutary skin quickly fell
and I walked from the room with head to the ground.
She was everything I needed:
she was pleasure, stability, and love all around.
I couldn’t hold on to someone like her,
no matter how hard I tried.
The demands on my life were too difficult
to let love rule my knots, needing to stay tied.
I signed her voice and her reality.
And her heart stayed as pure as a dove.
We made each other millions,
yet money didn’t bring us love.
I was stubborn and wrong
to let her voice whisk through my hair.
I was stupid and selfish
to tell her I couldn’t always be there.
When I knew damn well,
there was nothing more that I wanted
than to hear her lips sing my name,
but now my love remains cursed
and my heart, unwanted.
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