Dancing in the dark

So nightfall again. This time when you whisper all the stuff you wouldn't say tomorrow morning; when your usual indifference is still so far way. The radio is on. And I rather look at the ceiling and sing than get lost in those vortex eyes. By now I know the exact sequence of moves that makes me fall. No, please, not that song... Pff, your hand on my leg under the table... Hey, stop that, let me do the dishes

Pfff, this Canadian station is so good. Carry on my wayward son... And this ceiling has so many weird shapes.

And I end up dancing right into your arms. The usual fog covers my judgement. There's something very strange about thinking in English. Maybe if I switched to Spanish I could fight this fuzziness that...

Your lips over my ankle. The usual fall.