Record Player

it stands on the shelf
faux wood veneer peeling at the corners
cheap plastic lid slightly askew

this thing is older than me
the way the needle falls into place
reminds me of how i fell into you

when i touch it
it feels cold under my fingers
its dials worn from years of
button pushing

i place my favorite
lena horne's stormy weather on vinyl
and let it play

i forget the speakers
the device, barely audible, sings
a song as timid as when i first met you

this shy song speaks
from the long forgotten dials and tubes
and i remember i forgot the speakers

i grab the first pair
plug them in the back and instantly
the brash alto leaps from the speakers
and fills the room

slow dancing
is not the same without two and i remember
i forgot you a long while ago

i forgot your mussed hair
i forgot your eyes brash as the alto that
fills the room as i remember

and suddenly
the record stops and i am forced
to compete with the silence

with the absence
of another set of lungs that for so long
filled my house

and without these lungs
without your atmosphere and
trumpetous eyes

the record keeps spinning