Sword lilies
play in the noon.
The spending sun
is a yellow wild.
We drink champagne
for the hell of it,
because and
because.

I carry you
with twining
laughter to
the bedroom.
The sloping thigh
of night, under
a palm moon.

You nestle into the
crook of my arm,
movies play out in
green breath foam.
We drink
paper planes.

We drink gin, too.
The squares of London
skirt your legs
as we dream
with lavender.

You annihilate
with your merest
gesture as we turn
Turkish vinyl.

Cursive stars are
scrawled with
new romance.

We drink champagne
for the hell of it,

because and because.