9:13 p.m.
wednesday eve —
the balcony
***
it was the time
that the night
fell and the
moon governed
her celestial
kingdom.
a mellow tune
exited my room
and towards the
balcony it went.
it was a pleasing
tune. a vintage
one. my head
snapped to the
side. a phonograph
sat on my desk —
where papers
with spilled ink
scattered across.
"do you like it,
my moon?"
without looking
in front of me.
staring at the
playing device,
i replied,
"yes. i believe
i do, sun."
i captured the
sweet serenade
using my ears.
my heart banged
inside my ribcages.
awakening the
passion that slept
inside of it.
my blood coursing
like wildfire — it was
hard to extinguish.
my body begging
for the dance it
craved despite
the feeling of
melancholy that
was tattooed
across my legs.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Poetry"you and - me, we traversed at the eve of the colossal pages of our bedroom balcony." - excerpt there is no other dancing partner i would dance with other than you, my sun. you bring me to places that are wiped out of history - to the gardens of rui...
