I wake up, and my insides are still blaring.
Bits of this golden hair, left hard from your spinning wax.
This mind, like an old 45’ twirls,
And rolls harder with every thought of you.
Reproducing those small whimpers, as
You played upon this turntable.
Your toned arm, set upon these grooves,
Slowly converts these bodies vibrations,
Into Velvet Underground.