Round a fire
Two oval heads—
One with her hair winding and talk straight
Another with his square answers and curved ways,
Sit down chronicling their day
Through three kinds of Doritos
In a four-star gathering
Alive on five bundles of firewood
Six gallons of rum and sugar
Proper double-oh-sevens after eight fills
Spying hard upon the night
For the wonder of a new year
Wishing despite the turning calendars
May this fuckall of an evening
With its clapbox its mouthorgan
Its baileys its brownies
The guitar the love letters
This love these letters
This warp zone of cloud nine on a ten degrees terrace
May this never change.