Some songs remind me of you, when I’m folding laundry
or washing my bowl of chia seeds I didn’t scrape off the side with
my oatmeal spoon, but not all songs you like summon your
smile that I try to kiss before it evaporates like mist over my coffee.
You’re not defined by the punk rock you dance to when drunk,
or caged by the resonant croon of female vocalists and electronic guitars,
nor weakened by your tears from Led Zeppelin, or shamed by
your penchant for loud drum machines.
I don’t hate you because you hate country music
but love you more when instead of cringing you sip your coffee
to endure while I dance to lyrics soft and pleasing over acoustic strings
screaming melody over beat, and rolling like snowmelt down the mountains.
Like our bodies flow in dance to the music of our affection.