Dear Diary, I spent the afternoon playing BB King records.


Fingers strummed across Lucille

he gasped through teeth from her appeal

his body erupted full elation

hers, lost in salacious vibration

he sang his praise with her submission

strumming the fire of his obsession

no strings my King, a bluesy plea

trust from her on bended knee

always obeying weeping a moan

he'd slide down her neck to bend her tone

her loyalty was his request

Lucille wept upon his death

her heart thoroughly broken in two

she suffered alone, the three o'clock blues

she missed his touch, his lips to taste and cried, living alone in her case

if once a wish upon her granted, 

tucked under his arms firmly planted

on his lap she would whisper her plea

just one more night to set her free.