Door open, door close.
Footsteps on the stairs, heading my way
towards where I wait,
A switch is pressed and I flicker into life,
stirred from a patient slumber.
Lid lifts, lid shuts
as I accept a wax feast, spinning and admiring her:
My evening vinyl bride.
I’m reaching out an arm and when it lands we begin our daily dance,
fusing as I trace every contour, hand in hand.
Striding over valleys and skipping over troughs,
I nurse every inch with a deft touch.
Trying not to scratch with a single sharp nail
I’m graceful with my gentle caress, refusing to let go,
knowing that to do so would be to commit musical murder.
Leaving me alone again.
Today she is a Belle & Sebastian fan, and I can’t help but sing along
as together we waltz for hours to our own song,
the sole guests in an empty ballroom but not caring.
We are happy, and when we draw towards the end
and the last chord dies out I feel her dying with it.
The life leaks from her tarred surface and infects me.
I feel myself slow, and a steady rush becomes a crawl.
Reluctantly pulling my arm I away we part
and she leaves through the door I’ve no choice but to open,
returning to the shelf where she’ll remain until our next embrace.
Whenever it may be.
Our relationship was short and sweet defined.
As it always is