Fire burns, as we all know
Saturday night ignites
Soul music flames
That lick undulating hips
In figure eights
A righteous dance party in the kitchen
Shakes off the shackles
Of a rough week
With the best vibes
Bubbling up from self’s core
The last light of the sun flickers
Through swirling dust
Windows open so the neighbours can hear
Head back, eyes closed
Roving fingers tapping rhythms
Enchanted vibrations wash away
This fucking list in my head
Fuck right off
I’m busy right now, brain
Grooving to Marvin Gaye
When it’s over…
Who am I kidding?
It’s on repeat
About the Creator
Aspen Marie
In love with life and all of its foibles.
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More stories from Aspen Marie and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Failed Artist, A Disillusioned Poet, An Underpaid Game Show Host
I took my son and niece to Gori, a small town in Georgia where Joseph Stalin was born. They talked me into visiting the Stalin's Museum, the largest in the post-Soviet space. I had resisted going there because I just can't stand the monster and know enough about him, or so I thought.
By Lana V Lynx7 days ago in FYI
Comments (1)
Well done