Your mellow voice makes me think of mashed potatoes loaded with butter and heavy
cream, soft and savory on my tongue. Delicious, like your songs. When it’s just you
on the stage, singing about the arms of a woman and how she takes you home, that
tenderness, that longing, clings to the walls of my heart and reveals yours to me.
Why don’t you come for Thanksgiving dinner? I’ll roast a turkey and you can bring
pumpkin pie. We’ll say what we are grateful for, like the emotional release music
gives us, for one. We’ll get a little drunk on Beaujolais Nouveau, harmonize on my
front porch, our hot breath a showy metronome in the November chill, the stars
flashing their approval.