mullato heaven

an electric guitar is an
aphrodisaic to many folk
like me. robert plant is
sexy with his jimmy page
wailing as he sings lead
"hey hey mama," said the
long-haired gent, "Gonna
make you sweat," and the
screaming hellfire chord
shook them lady's breast
shook them ladies to the
core. ray charles didn't
have guitar as he banged
on the ivories. he never
had eyes to see that but
but he was still so sexy
maybe the guitar was his
voice. in 1970 though it
didn't happen, i sort of
wish they'd had children
those two. a little girl
mulatto and perfect with
a voice like heaven holy
and soulful. like guitar
or in all my best dreams
like me. not that I want
to worship some song-God
with long flowring brown
hair exploding sexuality
in the stage lighting by
the foot of my over-huge
goose-feather-filled bed
undulating and so softly
whispering all that jazz
i've dreamed of since my
first wet dream. i guess
it's good that men can't
have babies. that she is
just the ultimate dream.
that she is just the one
song that i sing to when
i'm falling from life to
blissful sleep. ray left
and robert's getting old
she was never born 'cept
in my heart with all the
songs i can't quite sing