Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Her Jazz Singer

She spotted me on cloud nine,
singing jazz to the soft, spring rain,
and snatched me up right away.

Everybody belongs to somebody,
but I was still waiting to be found when she came upon me,
and in an instant,
it felt so right to fall into her arms,
so right to fall at her mercy,
to falter at the first hurdle of holding myself with dignity,
I have searched for a sweetheart for so long,
and suddenly,
there she was.

So, there I was,
spotted, spoiled on cloud nine,
bathing away my bad dreams and singing sweet fantasies to the soft, spring rain,
and growing ever more beautiful, ever more ethereal under her eye.

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