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Sweetheart of LAX |
A night in exile – the glorious thunder of passing cars.
Lights mirror the souls in our own eyes; this is where the memories begin to fill our hearts;
blasphemous thoughts, curious deeds, what happens here is felt here at the same time by all.
Marching feet stomp to the same drum beat as crowds fill empty space and create families among us –
unison stomping, sounds echo and quither off of our moistened flesh,
swimming under the sweat we create, the life we share.
This is the chamber; resurrected and wanting. No more ice, no more crystals to show;
the glitz is dead as the beats slow down. There is no panic, only the lights.
Lights flickering reminiscent of the happy souls who gathered.
Drums chanting a somber rhythm, “thump-da-dump, thump-da-dump”, until the calmness prevails
and the cool of the wind chills our sticky skin and lets us know the night
is over. Time to wrap up in a soft towel to dry ourselves
and find our beds, our arms, our goodnight kisses, and to bow our heads,
under the twinkle of the sky.
copyright 2009
Jessica
Wilson |
