my feelings are easier to project when they are muffled

by Norwegian nu-disco

and when there is no thought

more complex than dance or warmfuzz we will

fall asleep in a bed of ten with no regard for our morning breath
we will line up for hours bopping

to the sound of indistinguishable rhythms cold

sponsoring the outlandishness in our movements tracing

a consistent pattern right down to my socks
rolling deep house pumping through the veins in my neck

my aching shoulders and searing crotch

dancefloor liberty written in the glitter on your face

etched into the shadows of your Aphex Twin Grin

you would shout into my ear

that you dig this one you like this sound this is the shit you like
harm minimisation in the form of high-end primer

designed to glue black and gold to the eyelids

and prevent the internal chaos bleeding through unannounced

like a thief in the night
the song blared out somewhere between

the cessation of social anxieties and seven in the morning

we spilled out into the Market looking like

Jungian party archetypes – all facepaint

and wild proclamations of affection
but can i carry an interesting conversation

when i am bleeding into the couch amorphous

shivering in a fur coat or am i nothing more than smiles

brewed from positive momentum

in my chest behind the teeth?