Return to: Behind Closed DoorsMaking Love With Music At Shag Phelps' birthday bash, in a small dark bedroom, on the far end of Alan's trailer, we found ourselves laughing and naked, doing the dirty dance to a drum solo, and strains of electric mystic Iron Butterfly 'In-A-Godda-Da-Vida, baby…' Flashes of strobe and heady weed streamed through a carelessly ajar door. The earth swirled and tilted when I arched backward, just to hear you swear as my hair tickled the bare tops of your thighs. 'Oh won't you come with me...' Thirty years later, a soft country ballad is mingled with snoring before the first verse leads to pause. In still darkness I walk through this big house alone, while ghosts taunt from shadows. 'and walk this land…' I put the album carefully in place, turn the volume to an unfamiliar low, and close my eyes to drink the music. If I lean way back in a younger woman's arch, I can almost feel the hair that is no longer there tickle the skin of my bare and lonely waist. 'Please take my hand…' Shirley Alexander © 2005
