slickaway's thoughts on the matter

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Music, music.

Sitting, listening to music, when what I want is to dance to it.

In a hot and sweaty crowd, with my senses reeling and strangers pressed up tight. Eyes closed, hands held high, hair a free and tangled mess. Mouth parted just to breathe.

I want extrasensory experiences, flashes of lights so bright I'm blind behind my eyelids.

Grab on to someone, pull them close, forehead to forehead, hands to waist and neck. Push, pull, forget, back to chest. Let go and they're gone, unravel fingers, hands, arms and you're one.

Stretch out, fingers slide past, trace the curve of your waist and the heave of your chest. Hand finds bicep. Fingers hold tight and you pull in another.

I want a night of 5 minutes. 5 minute sisters you swear you will never leave and 5 minute brothers to buy you drinks, 5 minute therapists in the form of the barkeep. A night of 5 minute soul mates.

I want to breathe heat, feel the beat in my spine and the bass down to my feet. Move to the left. Around, back, down and right. Slide. Sway. Stretch. Step. Jump with the snare. Make a whip of my hair.

And it's the air that does you in. The layer of moisture that has collected in your lungs. Breathe as deep as you can but you still come up coughing.

Walk into the night and fall somewhere soft. Don't remember leaving, just know that you're gone.

3:01 a.m. - 2010-01-22

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