Some people keep vinyl records the same way
they save used movie ticket stubs in shoeboxes.
It was the first song she agreed to dance to. He
pulled her close just before the credits rolled.
Memories that strong aren’t kept in black plastic,
hidden in hard paper like lines of library books.
She still saw his dusty hand extending yet again, the
brown coat sleeve watching a movie on her shoulder.
If plastic melts and paper fades in a sunny window
it doesn’t change the melody or the way movies end.
He’d watched her foot tap long enough to know she
glowed like moonlight staring at a large screen.
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