Choking within the summer’s smoke,
we dance in a pink blotted sky.
Feet never touching scorched Earth,
making home in the place the fire once burned.
I find my words in your songs,
I find myself in your eyes,
how can it be so long
since you wished me goodbye?
The night is young,
but so are we.
Even among these thousands,
you are hard to miss.
If we spin around quickly enough, the inertia of the word will surely follow, thrusting us into the near-future where I will kiss your crow’s feet in the morning.