Alone, I cry to country classics. 
This, I call my church, 
these lost divas–finding their way
through voice, through vice. 

Patsy Cline’s voice like honey,
sings the Tennessee Waltz 
& she’s able to envelop me
like “Honey” from a lover’s lips. 

I should have been born
a woman two decades earlier,
a hustling sort with 80s prom photos,
with a will so great & nobody to ruin.