You showed me your line of vinyls. You know, I always liked the ones that dug their lives into music.
The way you'd add your experiences in tunes, your voice much therapeutic.
You played me like the violin, stroking your brown soft fingers through my strings.
Your blues flowing through my ears,
I could feel the skin crawling chilling feelings near & near.
Remember when we'd lose ourselves to dance in the middle of your bedroom floor.
The way we'd flow our bodies into the  rhythm of the beat helped me adore you much more.
The spiritual tunes of Michael Jackson,
Oh, you rock my world.
The sensual touch of your body is like the equivalence of jazz blues.
You always had ways with your words, my operator real smooth.
My mind ran deep with your influential words, especially when you'd make me feel as though I was your one & only girl.
Blind to anyone else, I felt as if I belonged in your inner world.
But all that came between us was fast women, and herbs.
All that I have of you are memories in music.
The words you gave me, no longer sounds acoustic.