His hand lightly floats above her back,
Seeming still to the rest of his moving body,
Tips of fingers gently touch, stroke,
her bare skin.
She dances closer,
They move to her hips fit perfectly along her warm flanks,
hip bones protruding under her thin dress.
Shadows tremble across the ceiling,
together they move bathed in green light,
Red on closed eyes and open mouths from which the sounds crash into music before them,
Yellow illuminated empty bags strung on the wall,
and baby christmas lights flash above their heads.
The shirtless drummer slams the beat, pulsing through the wires out the speakers into waiting ears,
gushing,
like a hose whose knot is suddenly uncoiled,
as his super-sized slushy melts.
Big boots bang the floor,
arms pump,
she wails into the microphone.
Through throngs of laughter, body heat and cigarette smoke outside the door, hidden in the darkness the saturates the parking lot,
hunkers a dirty truck.
Mud splatters like exploded glow sticks.
What are you sitting on?
Bass Nectar throbs into the seats,
is absorbed into the tires,
one window is open a crack.
Inhale. Inhale. Again. Again. Exhale.
Still, through the smoke, and the dirty windshield,
the stars still glow.
Dance with me?
No.
Let me play with your hair.
No.
It's mine.