21.

twenty-one birthday candles

stood upon this glorified dessert -

tiered and iced,

with enough bling to please the highest ranked of pimps.

those red-orange flames

seem brighter each year

with the added shine of one more light;

one more beacon;

one more mark for the past three hundred and sixty-five days.

and for that short moment -

after the song, but before the blow -

they dance.

“this is not the end.” they say.

 and I can’t help but smile at the thought of times to come.

“see you next year.” I reply.