Of all my small, dumb thunders,
The rock and the roll,
Posting forbidden, giddy-passions
Into the purpled neon
And smoke passages.
She stoked the flame-blonde fires
Beneath my intensity desires.
Where is she now?
I still remember waking up
At three in the morning,
Smiling at how the earth shook.
- 48 Hours in Las Vegas, A Photo Narration (angloadventure.com)