.

lights spin backwards in the awakening
of midnight with all the youthful bodies
moving in reverse to it's rhythm

one moves naught because of his wish
to step forward against the flow and
is thus fixed                        
                            stationary
­
a too-late-to-adjust suspension, the view
from his seat for the upcoming show
is his only companion

he is most eager to be drawn into the
perimeter of the stage with his bouquet
of wrinkled dollar bills

stripping down to a personal submission,
he presents to her his graying embers

and with a grin~

she takes the green from the blush,
exchanging it for a golden touch

he smiles,

with a wink, she spins away with
a quick stomp of her heel

he smiles,

he returns to his seat to sip down
a drink that fizzled out years
before she was born—

he grins...



"a dance for the humble"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved