The Fault On Our Weekends
The city lights are the guide to one’s shrine
Of bottomless shots and wandering nights
The music settles in every outline
Of poor judgment that makes a fool ignites.
The thirst for lager and endless giggling
Overshadow the bitter pill taken
The desire for comfort out of mingling
Only spoils prospects who are forsaken.
The social call is just about to start
Something boiled down or untamed may happen
The impulse sets the expected apart
A high time fondness is near to fasten.
There’s always no tomorrow as they say
But the night after causes no delay.
The evening meal’s feasted among pillows
Buried in layers of blanched sheets and skins
The forty weight that Saturday still owes
Occurs in the night when one roughly spins.
The grip that is lured by forced attraction
Be like swaying along a blind alley
The hatred stems from unfit distraction
Slow dancing is now being craved badly.
The afterclap makes sound ahead sunrise
With brandy and pleasant remembrances
The men who give joyride and butterflies
Need a break to refrain from semblances.
Onto the next weekend, this may play back
Guess it is each one’s favorite soundtrack.
Copyright © Maria Rheza Mae Rubio | Year Posted 2016