Sounds of the night circle ’round and around like the flowering budgies that flap on through the night.
I await on the mantle, a picture of enjoyment.
Legs curve and the back bends forward, this is the pose of an elegant dancer. She walks and she hustles and she whispers in madness. She whispers secrets only lovers can handle.
Too late, I whisper, hunching my back and looking deep into the ceiling with elated joy. A fool only knows the answer after the call has been made.
Hope always exists, up here on the mantle. So much excitement and far to little action; the dancers they taunt me, the singers they enchant me.
I await on the mantle, as a picture of enjoyment.