Les èmotions

I miss her. Her curves, her grace, her hips. Since I moved to London everything seems to remind me about her, the nights spent together, the dance, any sweet moment shared. Once I would walk into my room and barely drop my bags, my clothes or whatsoever and we'd be at once together in a sort od mystic legacy that would bound each other for hours, days also. Now I got a sort of replecement which doesn't work: I mean, folk guitars are good if you wanna strum some old Dylan stuff swaying under a tree, but they don't have anything of my sweet Les Paul, which apparently's being stuck and locked inside her case since my departure, two months ago. Now, everytime I hear some rhythm and shaky music I'd just wanna grab her and dance about with it. I need to get her. Oh yes, and to get a LIFE, also. Sure.