Making Love With Music

Making Love With Music

At Shag Phelp’s birthday bash
In a small dark bedroom
on the far end of Alan's trailer
we found ourselves laughing and naked,
doing the dirty dance to a drum solo
and strains of electric mystic Iron Butterfly
"In-A-Godda-Da-Vida, baby…"

Flashes of strobe and heady weed
streamed through a carelessly ajar door.
The earth swirled and tilted
when I arched backward
just to hear you swear as my hair
tickled the bare tops of your thighs.
"Oh won't you come with me.."

Thirty years later a soft country ballad
is mingled with snoring before
the first verse leads to pause.
In the still darkness I walk
through this big house alone
while ghosts taunt from shadows.
"and walk this land…"

I put the album carefully in place,
turn the volume to an unfamiliar low,
and close my eyes to drink the music.
If I lean way back in a younger woman's arch,
I can almost feel the hair that is no longer there
tickle the skin of my bare and lonely waist.
"Please take my hand…"

s.a.a.