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.
Still,
I hear a beat;
One that makes me sway.
