Stylus
You fell upon me,
A diamond-tipped stylus
On vinyl
And set me spinning
Inexorably.
You danced and then grooved,
Turning tables and heads.
My heart
Palpitating in
Anticipation.
In those opening bars,
I was sold on you
Only you
And by breakfast you’d gone
Platinum.
But now my jacket is torn
And well worn tracks
Scratched.
So we nuzzle close, and dust
Each other off
Before settling down to
Play our greatest hits again
As if it was
Only yesterday that they were
Freshly laid and pressed.
June 2014
Simon Denegri Poetry 