Last dance

Couldn't pry you off him with a crowbar

You're clinging.

Never thought you were a clinger

but he's the pan of brownies

and goddarnit, you're the plastic wrap.

What is this song, anyway?

What will your grandkids think

when you can't even tell them

the name of the song?

No one listens to the words, anyway

except the forty-odd people singing along

Different evening, this

he takes your hand

he helps you down

he seats you first

he can't stop touching you

you're not much better!

you're stuck to him like hot asphalt

but this night is different

scents of flowers and cologne

replacing the afternoon sweat and tears and gasoline

anything is magic, starting now

new sensations, body gone

Year's passage welcomed with open arms

Open heart

Closed eyes, but love is blind anyway

what's that hand doing there, I wonder?

You've lost track of time, of body, of everything.

Last dance.

oh.

First kiss.

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I would greatly appreciate any comments or constructive criticism.