Grooving…

	
Long day     s t r e t c h e s 
	into a low slow night.

The children are bathed and kissed,
	sent dreaming
		into their beds,
	and the household darkens
and cools
	into a sweet slumber.

She and me, we,
			repose and lean back.
For this sweet
		too-brief stanza,
yes, it's just we.
			A bottle of wine,
		a record player
			and amber light.

I drop the needle and
				after a scratch and crackle,
			the soft tones rise up
		soft and gentle lilting singing
	of our summer-colored youth.

We loaf and lean against each other,
			talking of everything,
			dancing wearily
		in each others arms
	in words and laughter.

The music is a sweet incense,
			and we rest within each other.

As the earth turns its hurry through the universe,
					all is she and I, we, and we're grooving.
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