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Skip ahead -13 years, an unusually nippy
June. Now I was grown, the affair
by way of headphones not as serious
as before. Still, a single thought of your silky
tunes tickled my spine, like the supple
fingertips from a doting hand caressing
my back.

I hadn't heard
the news until my parents told
me you were gone. Finally, I saw your face pressed
onto the TV screen, looking paler
than what I'd seen before. Immediately,

I was ashamed at how I allowed
the passion to fade. As if someone gutted
me, down to the core, a never-ending hole
reverberated inside.

That night, I pulled
out the memorabilia of our past:
Let's Have A Ball, The Genius
Sings the Blues, Anthology,
my tears making puddles
of the dust on their covers.

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