A Turkish New Year
The waft of hummus and falafel fill the room and belly dancers writhe to Turkish drones. We careen about the room with abandon, flailing in shock-therapy convulsions as remote control funds filter into my jeans.
A sullen chord echoes a dirge of foreign wonder and I am held fast yearning to know what it's like to be a part of someone else's dream. In another life, in a far away land, a slave to exotic beats, the local color, a lurid dance floor discovering youth by the rhythm of tribal croons. True as the mist that sneaks into the harbor after sundown, pure as the child that gapes astounded, learning, assuming eyes round like saucers.
I thought she had a cute smile, awkward snarl of the lip, venus Elvis sister of midnight, but she tells me that she is sick with the Palsy though somehow temporary. Regardless the intoxication of the evening ends in an Ouzo ripening embrace and a simple kiss that mirrors the innocence of the child who watches and waits to be whatever it is you become.
A sullen chord echoes a dirge of foreign wonder and I am held fast yearning to know what it's like to be a part of someone else's dream. In another life, in a far away land, a slave to exotic beats, the local color, a lurid dance floor discovering youth by the rhythm of tribal croons. True as the mist that sneaks into the harbor after sundown, pure as the child that gapes astounded, learning, assuming eyes round like saucers.
I thought she had a cute smile, awkward snarl of the lip, venus Elvis sister of midnight, but she tells me that she is sick with the Palsy though somehow temporary. Regardless the intoxication of the evening ends in an Ouzo ripening embrace and a simple kiss that mirrors the innocence of the child who watches and waits to be whatever it is you become.