jagged affairs, cascaded on the tables that were ones danced upon, with 6 inch heels and women who couldn't remember their names. shelves, 10 stories high, reaching the roofs were a chandelier hangs, the crystal houses pictures of images it has captured over time, images of nudity and sin, sin and nudity. the rugs still a little damp, the smell of perfume, hormones, and lust creep along the surface of this place. cigarettes still burning, ashes as long as eyelashes no one to flick them away, for the fear of the flick would draw attraction to the tension in a now deserted place of party and touch. showering in their clothes so they don't waste time, forget the boots, were taking our minds off boredom and escaping to the peek of sleep. a dream world were the pool is still filled with blow up people, wrappers and rappers. claimed acclamation we have yet to put credibility to. shopping for sequins, covering your manhood in disco appeal. covering the risk with glitter and sprinkling ambition and passion on parts of you, parts of you that you were unaware could be heightened in such ways. an addictive cringe now kisses your lips and you want nothing but touch, nothing but sound, nothing but the you and the me the now and the now the never has been forgotten and we're plunging into a curtain of capabilities, a section of questions we will now answer with only our tongues.
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