This is not the End

No, this is not the end.
The end will be glorious,
A riot of colors and frill.
With pink champagne to toast,
We'll celebrate till dawn.
Then, stagger home in the morning,
Kissing everyone on the road.
Gates will be bypassed,
Because we'll jump the walls.
There will be masks and make-up.
Also perhaps, a clown.
There will be fireworks, for sure, 
Oh Yes! And the customary countdown.
There will be shimmer and skin.
And flashbulbs on the red carpet.
Everyone will want to shake our hands,
And the band will play only our melodies.
No, this is definitely not the end.
Because the end would be grand.

The Dance

Slip it on, shrug it off then, slip it on again;
You pull my scarf and I'll pull your tie,
We'll go round and round in a cosmic dance as ancient as time,
And stop only to catch our breath.

When the Sun slips down the West,
Dangling our legs into nothingness let's pretend to dive,
Into everything unknown and known,
And fall into a field of blood red poppies.

Do you feel it too?
The coiling in the pit of the stomach?
As I fall and then, rise and slither this one last time,
I feel your breath on my neck like a talisman of desire.

I fall with my hands spread wide still holding on to your tie.
Your hands still clutching my scarf whirls me around in the last dance.
We circle around each other like the Moon and the Earth,
One last time, before slipping into nothingness.

The image is a painting by Renoir