In the ambient glow –
High-pitch neon hue.
There’s soul music playing –
Electrified blues.
Thick, empty glass,
Shaped like palm bullets,
The slow sip of contemplative bottles.
Nothing prepares us
For where we end up.
We are layered hides,
Years of leathered snake skin.
Momentaneous and rolls to the next,
The accumulation of heart-beat scars.
All the moments that made
Who we are.