Sade

There’s nothing quite like a lovely late night session of jazz and introspection.

Sade drowns my heart ache in her rich despair. I watch as it dies a sweet sticky death. With every lift of her honey-and-whiskey voice, I feel something precious inside me tinkle as it breaks. The day’s events start to blur and speed in my head until I give myself up to the mellifluous saxophone.
I watch quietly in a corner as she surrenders herself to a love so intense her voice breaks with every surge of rising emotion. I watch her make love with a painfully beautiful smoky huskiness. I feel the thick lush velvet of her lust brush suggestively against me.

“I remember his hands
And the way the mountains looked
The light shot diamonds in his eyes”

I watch as her heart is shattered into tiny little fragments. I see her as she slowly bends to piece them together all alone, her voice filled with meaningless longing and haunting despair.

“I'm crying everyone's tears
And there inside our private war
I died the night before
And all of these remnants of joy and disaster
What am I suppose to do”

Her earthy base appeal flows plaintively through her words. Even her anger is deceptively smooth. Cold satin holding in it the promise to rub you raw.

“You're not the man
Who would bleed for me
But never shed a tear
You're not the one
Said he'd always be near
This was someone who you left behind
A long time ago”

As the CD whirs and spits its last lament, I feel the magic slowly fade. I open my eyes just in time to see the last thin tendrils escape through the cracks of my doors and windows. My heart feels mended, if a trifle inconsequential.

Here's to the only woman who consoles me with her own despair.