Loveliest Jukebox

I’ve strung reading glasses from that chain
who once held that locket
ever-close ‘round wrinkled skin.
When it broke, I buried its glow
in a fine, and pleasant place out back.
Hoping, but knowing that no small tree would grow.

But in case a homesick soul came searching,
I waited up unconscious nights just to show
your weary ghost the withered way;
to answer myself in thoughts astray.
To tear the final draft to bits,
to reshape the story with happier bricks.
So then I might not be so tragic,
I'm desperate to hear the comedian’s take.

‘Cause we worked on this story up to restless morning,
were patient with of all our own illustrations
born of that paint we drew up from the well.
But guilty, our brushes shared lips with the margin
and when we colored out
the black – began.

It spilled atop, and flooded over
the paper swam in tumbled text.
It washed our memories dry of
their boardwalk browns,
the birdsong blues,
their shining swords, and rocket shoes.

Until the years, and fears, and tears appeared;
threw back their cloaks and stood revered.
Then with each fading sketch; oh – with each woeful word
I piece together, I've clearly heard
and identified the warning signs,
with crude and crooked lines under my eyes...

and to say that I thought this might last forever,
would be the lie, that I've spent my life behind.
But the bed tonight, is too empty here with just myself to bear;
but I swear that I still feel the runaway locks of your red hair,
softly resting, away at my cheeks.
I could lay in times like this for weeks.

But it lasts until you turn so slowly to mutter,
some words of nonsense that you barely stutter.
But I heard everything you said,
and I give a sloppy kiss over to your forehead.

‘Til your tired mind, is satisfied,
you fall back to your favorite side
and my hungry arms, can’t help themselves.
They see your lonely ribs and slowly delve,
over your skin, back under the covers
who too know the luck of such comforted lovers.

My fingers gravitate to their heavy space,
just next to the loveliest jukebox in the place.
It's your precious heart, oh – it's playing our song,

and I can’t help my voice but to hum along.