You are beautiful.

Your words equate to glass bottles
collapsing on the dance floor.
Those black and white beats
against my coloured-in face
never once made contact
and my focus heaved its way to you.

The room was packed full of noise and dysfunctional shadow,
and only me and you welcomed the vacant air in,
I savoured pure Sambuca lips,
iced over and leaving me with a ghostly perception.

You coiled between my hands,
my waiting eyes were on look out
for your vanishing act.
It was bound to come soon because
you love the clunk of my body
as it clashes on the ground,
don’t you?

Light thrashed against faceless bodies
as they moved close against this song,
hands and arms reached deep inside the verse
and pulled the life back out.

Music is made from love, you see,
trapped in dead sound
and fastened tight in words.
Yes, music is made from love,
each note slams hard
against your heart
when love topples over, when love goes away.

I didn’t notice this until I met you
and you dared to ask me
why I sit in silence.