your reflection
shimmering, gleaming, loving
me behind a persona
glowing with yellow gold
in a time not set to be your own;

laughing, laugHING, LAUGHING
manically motivated motion madness
perpetuating petty preference
of obsolete obstacles
in itchy individual's intimacy

crying out for something less
than perfection, but still clothed
in the king of club's finest gold;
a beauty queen with a birth mark,
a palace with a strip club

inhaling the smell of your intoxication,
stars shimmering on an early sunday morning.
watch six am creep across your wooden floors.
sighing at your frailties
and shouting out for your morning tea.