This is not a poem.
The fervor of the night has yet to fade,
to cease its manic buzz.
Counting breaths like counting sheep;
I have lost count.
Cars race by on the highway below;
my heart races faster than them all.
Tic toc tic toc, seconds pass like passing clouds,
floating past the silver moon.
Shouts and laughter echo,
in my head and in my mind,
or from upstairs?
Slow down, stop.
The world is at a standstill.
Not a sound from the window,
my mind is silent.
Rushing water, reduced to a trickle,
so are my thoughts.
A dance of bodies, a dance of souls,
is all I can remember.
All trying to taste freedom,
in one night's short hours.
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