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Ambrosia & Chasers
January 5, 2021
Tap a stranger’s vibrant shoulder,
Duck away with greying smoke
Grab a cheap glass of ambrosia,
Wear the neon like a cloak.
The Gods think they’re high and mighty,
Watch the dancers, flames, frenzied,
In the dark youth of old twilight,
The wasted souls are envied.
Feel the deep taste of someone’s breath,
Personal space withers away,
Inhibition meets its curt death,
Heaven’s in this place to stay.
The suburban dawn shoos the Gods,
Strips them back to mortal men,
But, like clockwork, all their flaws
Will turn them to Gods again.
© Olivia E., Alto, MI
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