Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll

I hate to leave the warmth of your arms

but the silence is unsettling and I gently escape.

As I tiptoe across the cold wood floor,

your eyes gaze my way, asking for more.

I flip the record over and gently place the needle down,

waiting for the windmill of Townshend to drown

the silence and the pain from my busy brain

and I settle back into your arms and your warmth

and wait for this high, that only you can bring.

© Autumn Siders 2016

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