The paintings in the ballroom swinging slowly;
rock, and rolling, to the music on the dance floor.
Serenade me, I know you can—
you don’t want to.
All the things you’d say you’ll do get washed off in the sound:
the shivering heartbeat coming at us, coming down hard.
Send your post cards.
Cloud Nine’s amazing!
Love, hugs, and kisses!
Hold it—
this is your song—
a dream rapt with melody, wrapped in fake plastic delicacy,
hour-in-the-bathroom hair, cigarettes and throwing up;
bedroom promotions, black light addiction,
red light transgression.
Everything around you caught up in the blur—
not knowing where you misplaced your ruby slippers
could be a problem;
and not knowing where the hand belongs,
holding back your hair so you don’t get it caught in your mouth
(he’s got you choking on enough of your
“just-this-once” already)
could be a problem.
And the door steady opens, and here she comes!—
grace me with long strides, strapless sequins—
reapplying your ruby reds.
Click those heels, baby:
this party’s a drag.
The music's set to repeat.