My air guitar fingers strummed across your cheeks
As the electroplasm of Glayvaic fumes floated like a lullaby over
the the X1 bus stance in George Square.
My fingers in tune with our tongues playing tig
while our brains played statues under the flashing neon mistletoe
that hung from the branch of the lamp post above us.
It nearly glowed as bright as your stop it, leave me alone blush.
That I knew you didn’t mean, haha.
The man on high looked down on us and smiled, his bow tie twirled.
You make me twirl…
When you make those um um noises
You fair make me twirl.
Ma heid’s in a birl.