Floating endlessly, responsibility and noisemakers
blaring silently behind and below
crystal flutes and amber flames stoked by
nails and lips and hair and perfume that
sears my soul as seconds, minutes, hours become futility.
Hands in the air, her topography forcing my hand
flouting space and heat, musical rhythms imploring us
and common decency, governance and dictation,
fighting bubbles, the air, oxygenation and silk and lace.
Hours and whispers and kisses and smiles
tingling our ears and our eyes, a sense of purpose,
the righteous cacophony of youth and maturity
teasing us through blue vinyl and the taxi's exhaust drone.
"Happy New Year."
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