The Daily Grind

I want to dance around,

with you in the vicinity.

I want to make you question alcohol;

shots of tequila;

each swallow of salt

alleviating wounds I’ve yet to discover.

You say we were both raised the same,

so what made you change?

Why are drugs your version of “hallelujah”?

You were raised in the Catholic church,

how many “Hail Mary”s are needed to absolve these sins?

You find it hard to believe I don’t get out much,

that  I don’t really have friends.

If you want to claim me,

now’s your chance.

But I won’t participate in your “fun”.

 

You want to take me to a party?
Fine; there better be dancing,

legal age drinking,

and the air better smell of sweat

over any forms of smoke.

 

We could have something,

I like you enough.

 

But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to try drugs;

even if it’s the only way of obtaining your “love”.

 

I want to dance around,

with you in the vicinity.

I want you to put down the drink you’re holding,

pass through the swarm of tangled and pulsing bodies,

with your hands lightly anchored at my waist,

I want to let you rock me. 

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