By Arthur
Date: 23 April 2000
That Song
That Song
I left with the drifting moon,
Flakes of memory shaken from my interior.
I was somewhere under Spanish moss
You were singing a song in the kitchen.
Everybody knows that melody.
I stood in a room full of barrels.
Whiskey took my breath, scattered my vision,
Ruined light bulbs littered the floor.
I remember now the weight of your particular heart.
How it felt, the hollow heat of your smoky breath.
I expected that night to keep ending, I envision
your fine, high, forehead.
I wait for the song to repeat.
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