another one bites the dust

one record at a time,
I collect this new addiction
like women:

Bon Iver? Been there.
Pixies? Doolittle.
Even an old salsa record,
bought for Her in case
the future finds us inseparable. 

wonder to my dumbness
how a phonograph works;
exactly how the needle
catches grooves in the vinyl
to make sound come out,
and, more so, how and why
those sounds affect my heart.

call me a lost soul leftover
from the Hipster Generation,
but the kitchen is for dancing
as much as it is for cooking.

in my next life,
I want to be a musician,
and make lovers dance.