Our Alive Tonight

My dear Eliot said the
nights and stars so spread
out before our eyes that two
alone could keep us warm.
If motion gave us light
and dance our motions
and song our sight,
Then that sub-violet before
neons of the night, would mix
rain drops and our drunk
wet oblivions.  Our
motion would slower and
the lights dimmer, as
neon beat outside and old
violets to new violence made.

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