Joy

Nothing false nothing created but a real and pulsing joy, trapped between my pupils and dancing the dances of its own liberation somewhere between my lips and Havana lost in the islands of doubt yet found on the golden shores of my realisation...my salvation 

Swerving hips deaden the air and curving lips christen the cups which rattle and chatter like ants in the hive blue on red on green on grey simple colours who can lose their way here. Blatant cries are not enough oh no! We need bliss, we need joy.