Mary Jane Doesn'T Live Here Anymore
But her sweet gutteral scent
Permeates through the house still
Like dull shafts of sunlight
Hung dusty in the windows.
And I remember her in that chair
Staring at the books for hours,
Electric moments under headphones
Giddy from the white album.
And she was a lover to be sure,
Quick to excite and comfort,
Quick to entice a lonely man
With a smile and soft afternoons.
And I imagine her in some night
Blowing in on the arm of a friend,
Blending into the party easy,
Teasing me with the love we once had.