Love letter # 149
I remember the flickering light, the bass drum deep and physical, the whites of your eyes, the way your hips moved – the promise of their exhausted, sweating sex. We felt so cool then; so hot, so untouchable. Now we watch TV and worry about the kids. Life turns. The tracks play out, the lights come up and it’s time for dawn and headaches. But I look across at you – and I’m still dancing.