For the Record
I melted on your ugly plaid couch,
With a wine filled mind and an emptied out heart.
I’m not trying to sound like I am holding on
To the past,
You let me play Fleetwood Mac,
For the first time in years, truth was in the music
I’m merely mentioning what is fact,
I danced with you in your living room,
Among your impressive displayed record collection and misplaced feelings
I’m just writing this all down,
As a reminder,
For the future.