This was written after spending a night at a club and staying on until close.  It wasn't pretty.

Last Dance

it's coming up on closing time

and everybody knows it

in a way that has nothing to do with clocks

or watches

or the ticking off of hours

there's that drifting knowledge

that it's now or never

over the sweat-sheened booze-slicked dance floor

they know

in the hungry shadows

in the frantic flailing coloured lightshow

they know

the last dance

the last chance

to not go home alone tonight

and all the reasons why not seem to dissipate

in the morning it might seem like compromise

but now

right now

it's fate

it's perfect

it's bass-driven smoke-swirled strobe-lit destiny

salvation for the night

between forgiving thighs

and it doesn't matter that they don't know each other

and maybe never will

it's enough that they're here

the right time the right place

as lipstick smears on strangers' lips

and a hundred promises are made

that will fade to hungover forgeries at daybreak

at this moment in time

they're the best and worst that people can be

 

I don't dance any more.

Don't or can't.

Doesn't matter.