soul stride

that hot and red background noise
the record player stylus anxiously going down

the keys clinking like morning dew falling
rusted wheels rolling on brass yellow puddles 

flying on turquoise carpet, fragile Autumn leaves
 from the hard concrete the steam slowly rises

in your mouth a scented  flavour of whiskey, cinnamon and raisins
the sweetest pain

the sweetest pain
nostalgia for a time you've never lived
 a space you've never roamed
and a piano you've never played

Marco Bo