Waxed floor boards vibrate
beneath a subwoofer.
The loft apartment you left
two days ago, still here,
still making dance beats
to an anthem you chose
before you packed up
boxes.
Ages ago, I followed you here
in the dark—just a neon
sign from across the avenue
made our faces glow.
Flesh lanterns inside
a nest of boards and beams
We kissed a symphony of kisses,
made love on the vibrating,
rug-less floor,
and before dawn,
we had composed songs
all our own. Never played again
by anyone else at any other time.
I stand here now, on that same
floor, still moving but in many
ways motionless (or
maybe emotional-less).
Yeah, you're gone but from
what I was taught, love lives on
and music never dies.
The Memories live on.
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Yeah that's right! You got his number!
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