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.
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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.
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A silent-loud decree is shared,
Of buttoned shirt and short-dresses,
A concubine of rats and men’s immortality this night.
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Cruel bouncer. You block them from this night.
Cast dissonance upon their movements,
Let their legs stale like deviant cogs.
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For intimacy has no atrium.
An open colonnade for expressions.
Love, like air, fills us up temporarily, forever.
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Drinks are not to quench,
But to enforce this thirst
A longing of something far off, off, off.
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Vague, like their purpose.
No white doves to be consummated here.
Constituents? No. And men? They go
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To the night after,
To remember vivid lights and rhapsody’s,
To make friends and whatever tomorrow denies.
Christos Floratos 