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.

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