Ghosts in a groove
from Ticobsi AntiBoring Systems Hosted by Patrick Placentino
We never spoke in simple lines, Our truths were tuned, our hearts in rhyme. You’d drop a verse, I’d hum reply, Two melodies beneath one sky. In every chord, a clue was cast, In every key, a glance that passed We borrowed words from vinyl ghosts, And said the things we feared the most. We were speaking in songs, not saying a thing, Letting Lennon and Cohen confess what we mean. Every chorus concealed what our courage postponed, We were lovers who whispered through microphones. You’d cue the crackle, soft and sly, A sigh disguised in “I’ll Be Fine.” I’d send a tune at 2 A.M., A trembling truth in requiem. And in those tracks, our souls entwined, Between the bass and borrowed lines Our love was played, not plainly told, A secret spun in stereo gold. We were speaking in songs, not saying a thing, Letting Billie and Bowie translate our feelings. Every bridge that we crossed was a record we’d known, We were ghosts in a groove, decoding our tones. Some nights I still scroll through the sound, Your voice’s echo wrapped in vinyl round. A needle finds what lips once meant, Our silences still instrument. We were speaking in songs, not saying a thing, Letting lyrics and longing entwine in between. Now the station is static, but the feeling’s not gone We still speak in songs… when the silence comes on.
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