It’s the one
I’ve heard a hundred times before
track number twelve
belching out the stereo.
It’s either six or five AM
anyway the horizon is orange
like a papaya
and I’m next to your window
with a glass of flat 7-Up in one hand.
No alcohol all evening
but tipsy somehow
maybe the music got some hormones
smiling inside me
or your dancing in next to nothing
gave my brain a vinegary kick.
Now you ask again
I say I have two left feet
you pull an I-couldn’t-care-less face
so it’s settled
I’m dancing but not really
and my arms are thrashing about
so much I worry I’ll belt your lampshade off
and then you jump on the bed
and Teddy goes flying
and somehow I’m quickly up there with you.
We’re teenagers at our first festival
location - your bedroom
headline act on stage
and we’re going effing nuts
at the front shrieking lyrics
hoping our sweaty faces are on BBC Three.
I’m totally knackered so I pant to you
that I’m totally knackered
and you lean in for a kiss
but bump my nose instead
and laugh just as you’ve done all night
so loud so lovely so couldn’t care about
what comes next.
We lie down now
to catch our breath
except you don’t catch your breath do you
it’s just a thing people say
and our four feet are together
naked red sock naked blue sock
you say the song listen it’s ending
so it is
fading away like every night
that comes and then goes.