Going Out

The drugs are different but in the clubs it is still the same.

Animals still raving around, but with more sexuality.

During the day the looks and exchanges are subtle.

Then the night turns over and on their heads they are rolling on the dance floor with lights and music.

Sexuality is blended in between bodies and interchanged.

Everyone still feels it, after some drinks.

Inebriation is the goal and everyone’s a winner.

Tomorrow couldn’t look more disguised in ‘what happened?’

Reverted and primal they dance with hips locked.

All the while children are still dying from cancer and landmines, but hey this is the hottest bar in town, right?

When do we call it? When can we go back to our beds? Je ne sais pas.

We could have called it an orgy years ago, now it is the mark of the beast on an unknowing dame.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she has a bed to share with the guys passing town.

I’m sure their parents would be proud, I’m sure their pastors, teachers and friends would approve.

It’s all fun and going out, really?

The last drink before the last call and there are still predators on the prowl, beasts for a prey, 30 somethings for the victimless victim.

And the crevice of their pack is reached in with drunken fingers.

Until the sobering hour creeps in and our eyes open for the first time this night saying did that really happen?

The bed lays as long as they want it and the skimp sheets too.

Could it come to this?

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