The New Year

The New Year. A time for rebirth, to reflect on the past with hope, for second chances, and new beginnings. How simple, to surrender to the droning rhythm of time's strict militant symphony of drunken farewells and foolish rejoicing. I long for sweet etherium. Let the daylight drift upon our dewy limbs as we lay entwined and naked, with no warm welcome for this fleeting fair weather friend. Tonight we will revolt, on a bed of crushed velvet, satin, and roses. The candle-lite tempo of our disjunct melody of bodies, and sighs, and unspoken exclamations of love will create an immortal moment where time passes us by. Someday, we might victoriously claim, that we were once lost in a moment where passion reigns.