Our Exhibition Before An Ignorant Audience

The scent still lingers on my fingertips Of days and nights and houses on fire We are the nostalgia of nothing that tires A metaphoric phrase amongst the most literal of days The poise and the name will always remain My recent awakening, a beast nonesuch And our mothers never knew as much A stroke, a glance, a branded touch ` So we dance within this hourglass As if time is whipping by For we neither have such a thing to waste Nor are the fools to turn awry We’ll continue these weightless rounds Our limbs contently extended and sound Tongues that talk of shapes and escapes Oh, the routes we’ll take