They smelled like
wine and sweat and freedom.
Five blurred heads huddle together
in the thick, tobacco filled air,
disheveled hair sticking to shining foreheads.
The flash makes them glow
despite the dark that surrounds them.
Their smiles erupt on their faces
as though they were still laughing.

But the photo
doesn’t show them dancing.
You don’t see their skirts
swish around their ankles
like waves against rocks, or
their arms swaying in the air
like they were trying to knock out the stars,
because they were feeling brighter
than every constellation in the sky.

Their throats scratched from singing,
but their hoarse voices did not stop.
Feet punched the hard cobblestone floor,
but no one noticed the pain.
The night beat pulsed in their veins
and carried them away.