Four Lads Stacked In A Trench Coat

Twist, Shout, Kiss

It's nearly impossible to see
under the lights of the club
but I can feel her by
the way the music makes her move.
Precisionally possessed
in 4/4 time, around 125 BPM.
She has me dancing,
this faceless person,
as if I too have no other choice.
We move in, we move out.
We groove in and we shout it all about.
When she dips closer
our eyes lock,
only to be undone by rhythm.
The unforced force.
A stranger no more.
That last beat drops;
she is a gasp away
and these eyes tell me what to do.
Leant in, eyelids drawn,
a swallow for confident courage
and lips parted for departure
like she knew I would.