Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Oldie

Accuradio just laid out a song, an oldie, golden.

I know it well: every note recalls those memories.

Memories of then, memories of you.

 

Summer: windows open to the breeze.

Lying naked on the couch.

Your silken skin, your careful hands.

 

Ah, I tried to go on a bender after you left,

But I just didn’t work.  I don’t do wastrel well.

I rearranged the furniture, got a cat.

And after a while, I found another you.

But that song always gives me pause

As I get that familiar frisson, a tingle on the tongue

As I watch the scenes.  Then, I laugh.

Got me, you mnemonic fox-trickster…

 

Wasn’t a bad thing, though, not really.

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