My Old Record Player

Your geographical face lit up
by Moon’s light
unveiling “Cupid” to my “Psyche”

Her light graced your sleeping beauty,
enhancing more of you
than my day to day kept me from seeing;

there’s peace in the way your breathing moves your body.

My eyes have traced your soft skin,
that throughout the years your woes have torn at and
behind all the scars and the memories

I see your youth and playfulness

A playfulness that calls upon my inner child;
My child that hides behind trees and
wonders and wanders alone and weary, and yet you

You! My darling, extend your hand so that I may touch your fingertips.

There are many things we keep sweeping beneath the rug and
while that rug grows with every unresolved issue,
that taunts and haunts me, somehow
I know that nothing nestled or hidden has ever gone misplaced;

your essence swims in my existence.

It is no secret I long for you
within the words I speak and the unspoken ones, and
although the distance between us seems minute
in comparison to the silence I endure
when you deliberately find the time to not engage with me,

    I still hear you.
    I listen.

I listen to the breeze your life blows, and
the spinning of your wheel the Fates hold,
like an old record player and you,


are the song I dance to.

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