He played that song that brings back
memories of lying on a bedroom floor.

Curled up, flayed by adolescence, a heart attack,
brought lower than my knees with a need to know more,

feel more, curious about the lust-works
upon me. He played that song and watched my face

change, a morphed personality, it's quirks
accentuated by sudden loss of grace.

He wouldn't, nor let me, hide tears behind that song,
so we wept for the young, and to find what had gone.