“Love me like a long play record,” she said. I didn’t
know what that meant. Doubtlessly, it was a metaphor
for a slow kind of love, but all I could think of was pulling
a needle across her skin and carving music in there, and then
wait for her to make some kind of sound so we could start playing.

I tell her I’m not that good with metaphors and she says
the best lovers live literally. I tell her living literally is really just
breathing and moving. She replies that breathing and moving is
what we’re supposed to be doing tonight anyway, so I shrug and try
to love her like a record, but end up mixing the music and the metaphor.

I ask her if it was any good. She says: “Have you ever seen
a sunrise at night?” I can’t help but say that I haven’t. It would
probably indicate a change in the earth’s rotation extreme enough
to bring forth the apocalypse. She tells me that’s not very romantic.
I tell her I could love her like the apocalypse was coming. That worked.

PoemThomas Mook