At Shag Phelps' birthday bash, <br />in a small dark bedroom <br />on the far end of Alan's trailer, <br />we found ourselves laughing and naked, <br />doing the dirty dance to a drum solo, <br />and strains of electric mystic Iron Butterfly <br />'In-A-Godda-Da-Vida, baby…' <br /> <br />Flashes of strobe and heady weed <br />streamed through a carelessly ajar door. <br />The earth swirled and tilted <br />when I arched backward, <br />just to hear you swear as my hair <br />tickled the bare tops of your thighs. <br />'Oh won't you come with me...' <br /> <br />Thirty years later, a soft country ballad <br />is mingled with snoring before <br />the first verse leads to pause. <br />In still darkness I walk <br />through this big house alone, <br />while ghosts taunt from shadows. <br />'and walk this land…' <br /> <br />I put the album carefully in place, <br />turn the volume to an unfamiliar low, <br />and close my eyes to drink the music. <br />If I lean way back in a younger woman's arch, <br />I can almost feel the hair that is no longer there <br />tickle the skin of my bare and lonely waist. <br />'Please take my hand…' <br /> <br /> <br />Shirley Alexander<br /><br />Shirley Alexander<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/making-love-with-music/
