"On finding Exile on Main Street in the bin at Cheapo"
the whirr
of a turntable,
the scratch,
pop and click
as needle
hits groove;
the hushed
snap
of a bra,
a not quite
stolen kiss,
the end
of side one.
impatient
palms, sweaty
on black edges,
side two;
the wet shhh
of a beer, shallow
breaths in time
with the music.
a smile, traced
with a finger,
lips brush
against the curve
of a shoulder.
© 2009 Alex Stolis
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