Thanks for your time,
My thoughts might more or less rhyme.
There wasn't a full moon. Clear sky. Dancing to the tunes of something, not quite a lullaby
Questioning one's level of high
Hysteria, resulting in broken glass paraphernalia
I'll make it up to you. I promise
Battle of the tongues, egged on by everyone
Sloppy duel, salivary fuel
Pour some whisky on it and watch the the hemlines rise higher
Does my makeup make me look cruel
Drinks set on fire
The forest of my veins
I'm actually feeling some disdain
People stumble around me to the dancefloor calling for more
As servers dance around them fetching more sustenance and lubricant
Only couples through the door
Be joyous for you are single but now you must repent
There's a single star in the sky
Gaze into the distance and in your induced disbelief ask Him "Why?"
As the footloose begin to fall
Somebody announces last call
And the patrons crawl up and out the door
Some can't believe it's not four in the morning,
But there's no time to be yawning
One must get home or join ranks of the temporarily homeless
In their deliberate state of undress
Somebody pays the tab. Snatches of conversations in a passing cab. Gift of the gab.
Homely proximity, returning clarity
I recall words from a dictionary. But I don't think you'd find them in Pictionary
The final thought on my mind in all it's naïveté:
Why do they advise consumers to drink responsibly?
(Jeez! I wonder if I will get invited to the next party? What if I turn forty?)