I see your edges.
Layers of darkness,
That make up you.
And there is a desire,
To get lost in them.
I walk from room to room,
Searching for the words,
I’m sure I left there for you.
Old records with their skipping,
And crackles have far more soul as they play to you.
Their grooves can be a little worn,
But it’s their quirks that you love.
That give depth to the sound.
Sometimes a needle needs picking up and put back on track,
For their unique harmony to work again.
Its a delicate relationship that needs thought and care,
To maintain the best of the song.
And you hope it never gets too scratched to play.
Day is masquerading as the night
Tempting me to sleep tight