In the dissonant hours, when clouds
envelop you, when your feet are lead,
when the city is monochrome,
grab my hand tight and together
we will forget about gravity,
(the rules are merely optional)
and saunter together into the sky
to conga above the clouds.
Our flight will be in technicolour.
No longer constrained, we will strut
and hop, leave behind the stratosphere
and pirouette between the stars.