An ache in my side
from running home uphill
the torn paper bag
parts like reliquary curtains
the cover pristine
not yet worried threadbare
with devotional obsession
the photograph
distorted and lush
browns and greens
the icons in suede
the one’s face
challenging the camera
the cellophane
the edge of my thumbnail
slitting an opening
to peel it away
teasing the inner sleeve forward
a slight resistence
perfection
reaching
fingertip tongs
to the smooth edge
coaxing the disc free
ecstatically electrified
slivers of dye-cut paper
skittering across the surface
softly blown away
etched vinyl
offered up
like a black host
to the turntable,
the diamond kissing
the surface
sussurus sussurus
“I get high
when I see you go by,
my oh my.”
