In a futuristic utopian world,

everyone is eternally seventeen,

delightfully amusing,

and, a little bit taller.

Under the glow of streetlamp shadows

and stars, there’s light in everyone’s eyes,

and nobody knows loneliness.

It’s a carnivalesque atmosphere,

no unsmiling faces,

no words for money or greed,

and sinfulness has vanished.

Genetically enlightened, there’s no need

for chemically induced endorphins.

Backaches and headaches don’t exist,

and no one ever is to blame.

Explosions of playful laughter

resound in homes redolent

with baking bread and vanilla musk.

With communal singing after each meal,

followed by swing dancing,

life is a state of perpetual tumescence,

too many lips to kiss.

There isn’t anything here except real love.

Ribald anarchy works!

No one grows old, and nobody ever dies.