Liquor Rhythms

Staring at you from across a steamed out dance floor, magnetically attracted we glide together to that pulsating jungle beat mixing with the intense, and intoxicatingly erotic liquor rhythms

Gyrations bio-chemically produce invitations I sweat, from the heat as our eyes speak to what our bodies are really saying watching, as countless human representatives surrender willingly to their seductive natures

The incoherent and, fuzzy baseline disengages my mind-body-and-soul,
enticing my reflections on disregarded segments … of … our … past … history ... visions of Harriet Jacobs, Robert Smalls, and Frederick Douglass disapprovingly gaze as I caress your ass, on the dance floor in the span of 2 or 3 songs I had a dream we slept together, when I woke up and called you-you told me it was all good

Is my misogynistic machismo the final definition of my illuminating charisma?

Or does the smoke-filled room provide protection as we disrespect each other’s personal spaces violating both our situational and sexual ethics … now don’t get me wrong, rubbing up on a sistas breast while romantically reciting the lyrics of the
late … great … Notorious B.I.G in your ear,
is what I consider to be living

But while walking back to my table-aggressively occupied by my boys, with you digits in my pocket I presently realize that because of our recent past history, we have absolutely have no chance, for a future

7 songs later our lust reconnects us 2, on the dance floor with our physical familiarity
multiplied by 9 eagerly anticipating signals pointing in the direction of a liquor induced proposition, effectively redeemable for 1 night 6 advil, 12 hours, and 4 organisms later
we awake to the alarmingly devastating notion

That because we presently use each other as past reference points, we have effectively destroyed any chance for a future