The sunset seeped off the Seine
dripping down our shoulders and fingers
in the oranges of the Musée d’Orsay
cigarette smoke danced in the scattering light
as if in symphony
with the orchestra of some far-off conductor
to fall and rise and fall at once—
the light lilting to our laughs
splitting into a thousand pieces
and we were caught in the center of it
hung among the stars
suspended in the disco ball of space.
xx Atticus
**@atticuspoetry **)
www.atticuspoetry.com)
