We would dance until the ground was no longer at our soles,
when we would float in a trance of sheer naive
in the palms of death’s hand. slightly teasing.

Grasping vestal youth in our hands with
cigarettes in our fingertips.

Empty glistening bottles, left smashed on begging turf
whilst the substances slur inside minds.
Fallen drunken on the night’s moonlit whispers,
delusional romances, and unpromising fantasies.

The gasoline drooled out his hand needlessly.
It glazed the grass guilty
when we kissed it’s tips with a lighter.

its then those fantasies engulfed the air in illuminations of blaze
then creeping thick grey
and ceased to ash.

Death gently blew the ashes to the river
and kissed us goodnight.

- though now we are still dancing in our circle.
we light  it all on fire again
to disintegrate new dreams
quivering romances