If I remember right, Sandi Thom was playing that dream-like cover of November Rain.
Yeah, I’m sure of it, because we got into that argument about Guns N Roses! I still have emotional marks from the verbal bashing I took about being a fan. I actually think you called my heritage into question. That’s how you ride, you don’t play to win…baby, you play to scar.
We both smoked cigarettes and laughed about growing up and found how easy it was keep each other safe. Ignorant of the pivotal joy we were writing one moment after the last. Your t-shirt just lose enough, the natural way your hair brushed your shoulders, the low sun warming your striking face. A smile to fall for.
I think you kissed me first. Possibly a point we will argue over, but I’m pretty sure you kissed me after I put on Julie London’s “Cry Me A River”. It was a soft, passionate kiss, worthy of classic Hollywood, slow and languid, improvisationally-choreographed. Red Carpet in stunning black & white.
Lying there, we danced slow, and with refined intention. Allowing the rhythm of this to be dictated by the music, our intuition and our intimacy. Truly lost in the other, freely anticipating every move, caress, graze, scratch and bite. The walls and the world dropped away from us and we held each other in the face of oblivion.
We wrapped ourselves in it, almost like love.