Release Version can be found here: Night-Time Colours
By Christos Floratos
These lights, they blossom as
Benches are left dormant like Antarctic ice,
And bodies undulate to the envy of mountains.
But why are these colours craved?
For a time of life. A sharing – of some sort.
Summer’s egress has fallen short of it’s glow.
A silent-loud decree is shared,
Of buttoned shirt and short-dresses,
A concubine of rats and men’s immortality this night.
Cruel bouncer. You block them from this night.
Cast dissonance upon their movements,
Let their legs stale like deviant cogs.
For intimacy has no atrium.
An open colonnade for expressions.
Love, like air, fills us up temporarily, forever.
Drinks are not to quench,
But to enforce this thirst
A longing of something far off, off, off.
Vague, like their purpose.
No white doves to be consummated here.
Constituents? No. And men? They go
To the night after,
To remember vivid lights and rhapsody’s,
To make friends and whatever tomorrow denies.