The sounds of color buzzed of rhythm and blues
muddling my thoughts around psychedelic tapestries of saxophone.
Our hips shook in figurines
connected by a tight rope of invisible waves
as the sounds of color echoed through colorless boney hips
and sunk into restless souls.
Her moaning had ceased
and so had his heart ache
as we danced a silent disco
before the artwork of a distant time -
outsiders stood in silent shock as we danced
until their headphones
buzzed on cue
and they danced along to the rumbling tide of poetry;
how strange it is to write poetry about poetry.