After Drinking & Listening to Joni Mitchell’s “Help Me” for Six Straight Hours Last Night

He loves women.
In various shaped hues
and multitudes. And
his freedom. But
damn, I love him.
I didn’t expect this to
happen, it just did.
But I won’t deny it
because it feels so
good.
I ask him about
the joy involved
in the madness of
loving him. Not to
cement his belief,
but my own.

He doesn’t have to
tell me what we have
is magic. That tilts
the Earth off it’s
axis as our bodies
rocket to space.
Taking in the
celestial view
for as long as
possible before
returning.
I know he’s
aware, even
if he doesn’t
say it. And if
he says all that
didn’t happen,
then he’s a liar.

I’m in a breed
of trouble that
makes my heart
race and befuddles
the fragile shell
of my logic.
But there’s nowhere
else I’d rather be.
Fifty-one and
madly in love.
Finally understanding
the feelings cemented
in song. I can’t and wont
walk away. Loving the
way that he loves me.
It replenishes my soul,
brightening the dawn
and empowering the stars.
I’m an impulsively
whimsical spirit, lost
and feverish under his
spell. May God help me;
but not enough to take
me away from him.

His love like the waves
of a stormy sea.
Encompassing and
overpowering.
Not only do I stay,
I lock the door
to ensure I do not
escape.



Shontay Luna was born in Chicago and is trying, in her own quietly desperate way, to make her city known for something besides pizza and Al Capone.

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