Listen :: Bedford :: Smolder
Read over at Mayday.
Smolder
We lie on my bedroom floor
wedged
between the scattered
boxes waiting to be loaded
into my car.
His hair falls
against my face.
The shoddy recording :
Phil’s nasal voice : crackles : hisses : pops
pressed into 7inches
of clear red vinyl
sparks our burn of memories.
Our breath mixes :
with the hum
leaking from the speakers.
We lie there after
the needle reaches the end
lifts : returns to its
start.
back roads & city streets 