1970, I am 16 with long,
long hair and legs.
Patio doors open,
I lie on your basement bed
squinting at Christmas lights
stapled to walnut plywood paneling.
When you climb on top
I brace my hands on the walls
and oh, the vibrations
of every bass note.

I am a fine little girl
and the pillow smells like
us, unwashed together.

 

 

 

 

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