The Melancholy of Stevie Keys

In the shade of a corner, their sitting down with his eighty eights...fingers sliding and gliding all down the ivory cost. the neck of a sweet guitar lying in the background. the leaves of the great rely on the money. voice of raspy, heart of gold. his body sold to the orbit of a full moon blasted back by the muted math of the piano. "don't cry, you can rely on me honey..." and i fall ever so miserably in love with the boy singing soft.

my main man. my Maine, man. nobody told him that his plus sized, Sunday to Monday to calendar. breaking free of the weekends. making sleep with his lady friends. didn't anybody tell him that the phone was off the hook? making numerous mistakes as to receive all sorts of dirty looks. and rotten.

but my love is up for Stevie Keys, his singing makes me week in the knees. the kind of boy i'd blow kisses to. the kind of kid I'd write in my blog about.