There she was on stage, way above my head,
The lower ground strooned with bodies studded with lights;
I sneak amongst them.
The flame haired siren approaches on her belly,
And with a marker she takes to my arms.
Drawings of a high kick in stockings,
Over the Hindi Swastika.
She spits mints into my open mouth,
As i wake up in a pool of moisture and sweaty shivers,
Followed by a turn and back into it.
Grids of flashing colour,
Pink on top of pastel blue squares that outline her frame,
Like a crime scene.
With blood running everywhere as she breaks into the classics.