Before the sky cracked open (presumably) to cry for you,
I “repeated” Purple Rain for 1001 nights, practicing my chant of “I Would Die 4 U.”
During Ramadan, the Call to Prayer drops Brooklyn to its knees:
“A million mosques away,” I think, is what I would fly for you.
Instead, you send one last photo of a plane on the runway.
You quote Waits, watch as I “disappear” and I wonder: is this goodbye for you?
We are sinners; there is blood on our hands, yet I ask:
Who wouldn’t bless Jezebel tonight, the first night when she sighs for you?
A text can be a lifeline or a noose in my eyes.
I spend too much time devising my replies for you.
My rivals for your love have me captured as a wounded deer.
Judgment Day awaits: will St. Peter let this infidel scrape by for you?
But I, Adam Aaron, escaped, only to tell you this:
“Starlight, star bright…” can even bring God sobbing to my arms for you.