every inch of your love

the scratch of a needle
on the old
hi fi reminds you of
the hours lying
in your room
listening to stacks
of wax.
the bands of your era.
credence.
the doors.
led zeppelin's
whole lotta love.
learning every line,
hitting every note,
strumming your
air guitar,
banging on drums
called pillows
until someone, perhaps
your mother,
pounded on your locked door
and yelled
turn that down
and open a window
those cigars you're
smoking
is smelling up
the whole house.