They say the sun is shining bright
but bright I do not see—
For all I see is light blue rhythm
burned inside of me.
How do I put out the flame
that lingers around the mark—
Will water work or a simple puff
to put me in the dark?
They say the rain is pouring down
and I should come inside—
but I want to open up my flesh
where the light blue beat resides.
Perhaps a bit of summer steam
will extinguish all this hurt—
Or perhaps into the gaping wound
will my agony divert.
How is it that I miss a hand I’ve never felt at all—
And lives away she is from me but I still hear her call?
