Summer dress ready
to skirt right above the knee,
soda can in hand, dripping
artificial sweat, quick side-glances
and we're dancing into another day.
Click, clack.
Gyrate
... gyrate.
Sun's travelling like spotlight,
v-shaped face and butterfly lashes
merging into one picture,
and shadows appear like foliage,
easier to count with their chins
pointing simultaneously.
Gyrate, gyrate.
Click, clack.
Piercing rhythmic routine
into the pavements,
burnt necks suffice,
a straw-like sacrifice,
counting heads to elongate
the heart's lifespan.
