Years of contusion,

Then illusion.

Drink for fusion,

Reason gone on holiday.

I hear beats that make me sway

Perfectly painted faces,

With all the colors of exotic birds.

Without the shell, 

How could we grade and degrade?

The click of pointed heels at dusk

Air wears the scent of the gentleman’s cigar.

Driven to unknown spaces 

In search of faceless names

Covered in burgundy velvet and rows of black suits

Drowning in goblets of Cabernet

Memories swimming despite valiant efforts at submersion. 


I hear a beat;

One that makes me sway.