She stole my every rock and roll, my hymns,
In that she took the ipod when she left,
So I untied my ropes – let sirens sing.
So empty now of jazz or evening swing
I let the house hum silent and bereft –
She stole my every rock and roll, my hymns.
Eventually the winter tuned to spring
I forgot the violation of the theft
So I untied my ropes – let sirens sing
And stalked that record store, “the king of spin”
A shopgirl so deluxe that I forget
She stole my every rock and roll, my hymns
Each week another momentary fling
Transactional, yet sending me to sweat,
So I untied my ropes – let sirens sing
Dancing like a boxer in the ring
I swung out wildly for the hot brunette
She stole my every rock and roll, my hymns
So I untied my ropes – let sirens sing.
eleanor j jackson 
shut up!!! (in the most positive way)
C’mon – better than in a coffee shop!
God, it was hard to rearrange after you bailed on making me a perfect tulip.
though, I kind of like this better…
less true, more
Oops. more, I don’t know. Formal.
Record store, also kind of a cliche, but WHATEVER.
i’ve pantoumed you.
and the house is still a mess.
Being a housewife sucks.
Be a romantic wastrel.
I’ll have to work all Sunday to compensate, but you’ve made my poetry heart sing all day. So it’s worth it from my end!