Somewhere, in the dark, she hides her secret wishes.
Again,
the boy-girl thing.
Come on in, the waters fine, for the Sharks.
Her blues.
A treacherous kiss finds my lips.
Where are we?
According to the informant, caught.
Dancing, wrapped around each other
like good poetry.
Where are we?
In between rounds, putting her blues in
motion on the dance floor, hiding from all tomorrows.