He goes down to the basement
to find out what is on the CD
that doesn't share what's on it
lest it be played.
Strains of
'If You Would Love Me Now'
drift up from below. The song
Tracey Lynne Arledge wrote and recorded
thirty-fours years ago,
the song she sang when he first
asked me to dance, that she sang
when we got married.
He hustled up the stairs,
holding out his hand and once again,
we dance to our song. Not
in a bar, or at a county fair,
but in the kitchen-
with a dishrag in my hand,
smudges of flour on my cheek
and while wearing fuzzy pink slippers.
And it is still
absolute magic
and he still
loves me.
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