Friday, August 28, 2015

soho tide

neon flickers, sweeps
across the room, a tide
of impulse and electricity
exclamations flit from cushion
to bar stool to the beckoning
dark corners
pounding eighth notes, collision
of desire in the blur
of a smoke machine
my hand into yours
at shoulder and waist, we fit
together, circling
that crooked smile, scooping
up the downbeat and the one-two
cascading like the stage lights 
pink and yellow.