making love to music

you had a girlfriend
named Dixie, once.
it was a long time ago.
the vinyl age,
not far removed from
the paleolithic age.
she liked to make
love
to music,
but the record would
skip
and she'd have
to stop
get up and walk
naked
across the room
in her roman sandals
to drop the needle
to another nearby
groove. or she'd
tire of what was
on, and get up
to sort through her
albums
to find something
else that might
put her in the mood.
meanwhile you waited,
whistling Dixie,
as she kneeled
on her shag rug,
saying nope, nope,
nope, maybe.