this music was ours.
i listen captivated.
your songs on repeat.
the record skips.
it's ruined.
i can't fix us,
a vinyl relationship.
instead, i hang it up,
up there with bowie.
our love will stay
in a tangible form,
but i will never play
the melodies again.
they will stay a memory.
i'll throw it away soon,
and it will be replaced
with yet another
catchy tune.
YOU ARE READING
she likes the color yellow
Poesiemy soul in poem form. i'm not a good poet, but i've learned to be vulnerable.
