A shelf of silver discs behind the glass,
fingertips clouding their silicon shine.
Dust motes dazzle the old TV's reflection—
I was a boy, perhaps eight or nine.
Watching the movie on the rental screen,
cords tangled like Rapunzel in a scene.
Static crackled with a noise so strange,
the DVD's design—quaint and serene.
Plastic cassettes with cascading covers,
a breeze of lingering nostalgia in the air.
Memories revisit with the scent of meringue,
rebuilding traces of moments once rare.