Sway across the dance floor
in your hi-top Converse and matching black dress,
mic in your left hand,
too beautiful for my own good.
Thoughts speeding through my head
like tourists on the Autobahn,
drunk on infatuation and irrationality.
Make me forget all of the bullshit,
the years of circular nothingness
and back-alley backstabbing
of a dollar-store witch
and her Cowardly Tiger.
Hold my hand and poke fun
while I ramble on about retro video games
and 90s rock.
Wrap me in your Charm.
Steal my sleep.
The Follies of a Postmodern Xennial 