There was woman once in Spoonman's life. No, not Cobra Woman, she more like fesity sister. No, this woman was not like Cobra Woman. She was banshee too, but she have soft side that make her forget herself sometimes. Cobra Woman never forget who she is. No, this woman when she forget who she is, she become like love glove that fit over every part of unsuspecting man and squeeze him until every ounce of resistance that he have, disappear.

I think maybe she have other identity. I think she even work 9 to 5 gig in financial district. I think maybe she even married with four kids and live in Half Moon Bay, I don't know.

You see, when Spoonman is happy, he does not ask questions, so he never ask her what her name is, or where she comes from, or whether or not she is married. No, Spoonman not so good with questions when he is happy, so I only come to know her as Love Glove.

I meet her one day in used record store. I am for King Pleasure. She is for Slam Stewart/Slim Gaillard. Conversation go like this.

"You are elegant woman with funky tastes", I say. She says, "You are funky man with elegant eye".

She cut me to quick. 'I love many things," I say, "good music, good food, laughter, light in children's eyes, curve of woman's bottom, smell of the earth, cold beer, hot ham sandwiches."

She says, "I like horses when they sweat, melons when they are ripe, dew on rose, smile of Clark Gable and torch songs in wartime.

I say, "I like tales of human courage, good gravy, red sunsets."

She says, "I like the smell of gardenias and the misunderstanding surrounding the Virgin Mary."

"I like olives," I say.

"Cilantro," she says.

"Red peppers," I say.

"Sweet Basil," she says.

"Mushrooms," I say.

"Dreams," she says.

"Surrender," I say.

"Passion," she says.

"Death," I say.

"Resurrection," she says.

Spoonman was crazy for Love Glove. We leave record store, she with Sun-Ra, I with Madame Butterfly. We go to coffee house and have espresso and bisquetto. Other patrons come up to me and ask "Who are you in crazy costume?" But, I do not have time to answer questions. I am man on edge of world that is crumbling, pitching and rolling into raging river that washes over old habits and common sense. All this did I see as I stared into espresso and into her eyes which spoke of pleasures to come.

And many pleasures there were, long nights in the house of giving, but love has two faces. One face is eternity, and to see with this face is to be alone and at peace. Other face is desire, and to see with this face is always to be searching for object of desire. This kind of love burns like hunger inside those who cannot live without it, and Love Glove she was one of those. In time she turn her gaze away from Spoonman, and fall in love with handsome White Elk that live in Northern Rocky Mountains.

Last time I see her was in Rock Springs, Wyoming at little Chinese greasy spoon. She says she has found love with giant elk and now must go to live in mountains. I see she cannot be persuaded any other way, so on that day, Spoonman once again put on mask of eternity, climb into RV Spoonmobile and head west on Highway 80. I turn on radio. Roy Orbison.

"Yes, now you're gone and from this moment on,
I'll be crying, crying, crying, crying Yes, crying, crying, o-o-o-ver you."