The fireworks shatter
into stars above our heads,
and we lean back to catch the sight.

The sky reels closer, like so many shouts.
The smell of beer and cigarettes. It's cold
so I pull your coat tighter round me,
hold your waist. 
                      
                      The clouds swim over the moon 
as the world looks up to watch the year fade away,
to be replaced. The earth is shedding its skin
(or at least, in our heads).

But I'm not thinking of so many faces, tilting
towards the sky, or the year fading into the black;
the night's too close for reminiscing. No-

I'm concious only of the warmth
of your shirt, beneath my fingers
and the fire bursting into haloes above our heads.