Midnight

Fiery liquid races through our veins

as we toast our greatness with faux formality

and feel the fog cloud our brains,

as we quickly alter our realities.

Each synapse sparks, faster and faster

or slower, depending, and the world is spinning,

and we are fast heading for disaster,

happily bumping, grinding, inanely grinning.

The clock strikes twelve, the world stops.

And starts as Madonna blasts

and gyrating forms move closer, 

touching, groping - 

flying tops litter the floor -

in the sweaty dark, we transform.

(Originally written in winter 2009)