“la musique” he speaks
  in his native language…
  “ah, la musique.”
i listen, grateful for the glass
  of wine which he has
  handed me, and the
  turntable spins slowly…
  the needle threading
  its song as the red
  liquid rolls about
  my tongue.
“je me souviens de temps
  en temps” he continues,
  and i nod slowly… a
  smile upon my lips…
  for i remember dancing
  with her also.
what an odd time to meet
  her old lover… so
  soon after her wake.