I was at a club in New Jersey, watching nonsense on the flat screen, looking for love at the bottom of highballs and shot glasses. I'm hoping to find that special guy who can show me a good time, chasing rainbows and digesting love songs, being played by the DJ. Most of you got your feet in my shoes. We all got the club goer's blues.
About my third drink, I spied you sitting across from me at the bar...and you are looking better by the minute. I can see you staring back at me. I raised my glass to take another swig when you started walking over to me. Your shoes were torn and tattered, but to you it didn't matter. Cuz you too had the club goer's blues.
Some how our loneliness pulled us together, and we spent the night talking about pick up lines. We realized we were both looking for love at the bottom of shot glasses and high balls, and we went home together and made love songs, until dawn.
That morning we realized our fling had been a product of love at the bottom of shot glasses and high balls and we parted our separate ways. But the blues kept drawing us back to the same old club.
it
is
quarter
to midnight
we lay ourselves, on
the bed, her breath demands, willing…
to intertwine, while my naughty right foot tickles hers
the touch of a lonely bourgeois, searching under the
silk sheet of love, with a hope, not
only mine, but her
own silent
gasping
is
at
par
as
my own
wanting grows
and now, night-clubbers
bowing their commitment, homage
to lovers of midnight glory; a total silence
as they pass thru dim-lit corridor, ‘cos we, they know
are surely amongst the many
too excited, in
exploring
what’s life
has
for
us
in
serene
night, but then
the clock strikes midnight
awakens the fragility
of the moon---begging to be in-between, till morn comes
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