A music nerd? Sure, that's me.
I can draw you the tie
From Dave Brubeck to Jay-Z;
Between Parkway Drive and the Dirty Three.
For me, High Fidelity is a documentary.
But I didn't know music until I met you.
The phrasing of the way you move,
The harmonies between your smile and eyes,
The brushes beating the pulses beneath my palm,
The song cycles found in your sighs;
Your soul has the authentic vinyl hiss
Uncompressed, the full dynamic range;
No meaning I would ever miss,
From the gutter to your embrace;
Your body sings songs I should have known,
Liner notes I can't believe I haven't read:
I want to flip through your back catalogue
and place you on the platter's bed;
Run the needle of my finger through
Your skin's faithful peaks and grooves,
Feel your vibrations fill my nerves
With the melodies played across your curves;
I can't sing a note or hold a chord
But have never felt more in tune,
Your hands guiding me across the fingerboard,
Finding the intervals as I swoon;
Miles Davis, I didn't really understand,
Until I heard your open throated honesty,
Felt the brash brass cool of your hand,
The full chested bell of your breath upon me:
The one note dropped, the unexpected trill,
Always catching my mouth empty, my lungs filled;
I thought I got what Elvis added to
words heard before, until you sang me your
cover, told me 'I love you', while your
hips swivelled above me;
You Coltrane my heart, you Tom Waits me in bars.
I Jackson across your living room floor;
We Cash holding hands in road trip cars;
The Duke Records roster is your dirty mind,
Manchester in the 80s is your bed:
I lie down with Joy Division, die
With New Order in the morning lift my head;
You take me to Amy's makeout point,
The precipice between suicide and eternity,
With the knife twist of blues, the risk of jazz
Over the blade's edge you swing and dip me;
No baby, I didn't know music until I met you.
My life was toneless, a flat, stilted hum;
I can just hear things clearer now:
Music, with you, is what my body's become.