The jukebox of our life,
it's in the corner
of the Waffle house
on Route 59.
It swoons Ray Charles,
blasts that Simple Minds,
aches with Sinatra;
toys with memories.


Ruby rouge, twinkling
with faux glitter spots
and rusty buttons
and rusty records
and a dust-layered
smile of grey chrome.

The jukebox of our life,
it's in the corner
of the Waffle House
on Route 33.
Why don't we meet up
and swoon, blast, ache, dance
to the ruby rouge
again, you sweet boy?

If I love you for a moment,
take up a space in this continuum
with a twinkling of the heart,
let it not be

when I gasp at the brush
of your fingertips slipping beneath
the fabric of my integrity

Let it not be

when your lips skim
the curve of my bones, when you
make my core quiver and release

Let the moment in the continuum -
in the spaces in an expanding nothingness -
Let the moment I love you
be

when your head rests atop mine
on a snowy night in a running car
and your hand presses slightly to my back
with a softly spoken
"Goodnight."