I moon over skin gradients.
Digits probe – bluff their way,
like it’s my debut night foray
on a fretless bass without dots.
Audio gibbers – it tracks the action
in a blow by blow commentary,
like a satellite voyeur on heat.
The universe falls apart – just
for a while – until it returns
to pick up where we left off;
rattling the bejesus out of us
when dawn gate crashes the room.