17 year olds.
They dance.
The lights flash
Semaphore messages of
Love to be
Encoded for the age of seventeen.
They dance.
The music bleats
Of enmassed sheep;
Amplified
Magnified
Larger than:
Dinner table conversation
Mortgage and job superannuation
Daycare arrangements
Budget discussion
Bad day at work
A rude supermarket clerk
Where to go on holidays;
The banalities of love everyday.
No chance, no change, no charge
T.V. or what...
What?
Friendly fucking of familiarity,
Comfort of intimacy
No fires, no flames
Central heat efficiency
Not life itself
Not a reason to be.
They dance.
We watch.
They imagine.
We remember.
They begin.
We continue.
They dance...
We.