Blacklight District
Mike Schmitt

She dances in the blacklight
under a vast sky of plastic stars
glowing across the ceiling.
Her palms press flat against
the plaster edge of this universe
as her feet sink by my sides
into the pillow top mattress.
Shooting stars of white lace
lingerie trace as her hips orbit
on the beat of a digital bath.
Her knees butterfly, in and out,
as if surfing on the sound waves.
Her electromagnet eyes beam
like a florescent corona through
vanilla incense. Her complexity
of emotions shine symbolic colors
like a prism near the sun, none more than red.

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