Slow Dance
I felt so tired. So sick. But I had to get out or I was going to bury myself. I went to one of the only places that I continued to frequent without fear. The club had been shaken in a tumbler and what poured out was something sickly posh floating atop the gothic and industrial layers. Strange was a kinder word for it than I usually used. Within an hour of mingling an old eye catch decided to take it upon himself to may my company. Being lonely makes any warm body a willing one. He asked me to dance. I was not expecting such attention let alone what he gave me. A slow dance. Our bodies leaned into each other in an easy sway. My lips lightly brushing his neck. No one had ever once asked me to slow dance to hard core, industrial music. I took him home and touched with a tranquil innocence. I forgot who I was, sold on such a tender gesture. There was never any sex, it wasn't needed. When I woke the next morning I found crumpled but empty sheets and had to smile. I had let a perfectly wonderful canvas go, all because he had bought my soul with a slow dance.