Thai lips whisper,

she’s out of her mind;

she can’t hear them

over North Gate jazz

and covers of the Beatles.

her leather boots stomp rhythmically;

her beat twining with the night’s other tones.

her body is lean and tan,

ink flowers coil round her calf:

her age glimpsed only

in the laugh lines—deep and many

as she smiles, eyes closed.

if i could choose

one snapshot of my future,

it would be me—like her

carefree, vibrant, dancing

but maybe not alone.

Leave a Reply