There's an LA woman that I know.

I met her quite some time ago.

Not in a truly physical way.

I turn her on and then she'll play.

By that I mean she's not really there.

She's only the music that I hear.

I know her in my living room.

Each time my heart goes boom, boom, boom.

 Is it the music that she plays?

Or does she do it in other ways?

Maybe it's the lyrics that she writes?

Or how I feel on lonely nights?

One might say her angelic voice

Is what moves me to make the choice.

To turn her on my stereo

At home, my car or where I go.

There's one other thing to note

About an email that I once wrote.

She's the canvas for my self-portrait

I honestly wish she were my mate.

Heck, maybe just a date or two

Or lunch up on the avenue.

Or coffee in some LA spot

Any of those would be real hot.

I'd really like to talk to her

To see if maybe I could stir

An interest in what's going round

Like swing or a new country sound.

Maybe she'll get to read this poem.

That might get her to get down home.

And write more music we'd love to hear

Continuously each and every year.