Prelude in 5/4

It’s jazz weather
preferably in French
the sort of croon that carries us
into the deepest part of night
where everything goes soft

I could stare at you for hours
if only this song would last
with a look of young love
remembered
and now remade

It’s incredulous
like I can’t believe
that I’ve gotten quite this lucky
that luck had anything to do
with finding a you again

A you who humors my objection
to taking the track off repeat
derailing shared ignorance
of what it is
that comes next

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