All in a line.
Contiguous hands,
trembling.
Shy as fuck,
the moon is obscure.
A conversation,
a song, and some moves.
Some days are lived,
others observed,
the rest,
are evanescent.
Failed attempts, tears shed,
and the popcorn crushing heard on the head.
Living and observing,
a stage is reached.
Where special things happen to me.
Meanwhile,
Shy as fuck,
the moon is obscure.
