Memories that come at night take me to another time

It was January in Kentucky, we sat in that tiny living room with wood paneled walls, an American flag hanging there, along with the smoke. It was warm enough. Cozy even. I sat on the floor next to his record player, wanting to frame each record sleeve, wanting to find a time machine back to '68 or maybe '69. I had grown used to his constant plucking, his guitar a fixture in our life. It really was ours. I wasn't alone, that January. I guess I was in my own thoughts when I heard him laugh, three or four puffs under his breath, soft and small laughs. I looked at him. No shirt, his not-quite-long enough hair falling from a rubber band, and oh god those lashes. "I just starting playing Wanted, Dead or Alive." He laughed again, a decible higher this time. "Bon Jovi." I joined in, probably, with the laughing, but I distinctly remember having a hard time finding humor in it, when all I could focus on was his gorgeous mouth, his eyes lighting up. "That came out of nowhere." His face settled back into a serious mask, eyes looking down, toes barely tapping out the rhythm to Tangled Up in Blue. I sat next to him, an inch away, so so close, and sang very quietly "...she was working in a topless place and I stopped in for a beer...". I think I kissed him on the cheek. At least I hope I did.