The spirit takes over, slowly, like a snake creeping out of its hole to embrace the rain. The hazy claws of alcohol meet Solomon Burke’s melting voice half way. The rain supervises this intercourse, adding its warmth to the amalgamation and in months, I feel good. No, it’s not the Vodka..Maybe Burke’s trickling voice when he pleads his woman to not give up on him does the trick..But it feels good. The warm alcohol sears through my satin fabric, touching me at all the right places..igniting dead pieces..titillating confines of my brain.. And the words of “Don’t give up on me” stab my heart poetically, methodically..It’s beautiful..exhilarating..painful. My heart wants to sing to Burke, leap out and burn away with his voice..Softly..Beautifully..Delicately..Brilliantly..fatally..I don’t want this to end and if this is how heartbreak, alcohol and pain feels with Burke, I’ll do it a thousand times over because everything makes sense. It doesn’t..but it does..Maybe I’m a little drunk..Maybe this is all Solomon Burke..How does it matter? I miss you J..I don’t know if I really do or if it’s the alcohol..but I know this: Baby, I’ll leave you a thousand times over if this is how heartbreak feels and if this indeed is pain, I will fucking embrace it and make it mine forever.
Solomon Burke and spirits