Rough Rough Rough Draft

And by “rough draft” I mean, you are getting this as it comes out of my head so ….

Four Minutes

The music sparks
Fires in my imagination.
Memories mix with daydreams.
Moments from a lifetime ago with
Moments that may never be.
It only takes a chord –
Or maybe two –
And I’m seventeen again.
Hot summer nights.
Windows rolled down,
Sharing our songs with the world.
Four short minutes later,
Beside me on a worn out couch
He strums his guitar
And we sing.
His beer between my feet,
Mine in one hand
(Fingers of the other
Tangled in his hair).
Just as soon as he was there,
Gone again.
Replaced with someone new.
We dance, or maybe “sway,”
Hands at our sides,
Twenty fingers,
Knotted together seamlessly.
Wonder if he knows
The posture of his lips
Says he’s dying to be kissed.
Lean in,
Warm breath against mine…
The music changes again.
Always changing.
Memories mix with daydreams
Four minutes at a time.


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