promiscuous

so why should i care. i see you dancing with her on the floor of the club so small and packed, you can't help but push up against her. your hands cup only the air around her, but she moves like you are cradling her body in the shake and way of the music. you always say fucking is fucking and love is love; then after that you say, "i love fucking".

i'm not actually a wallflower, it just seems that i have become so. i think i'm a little cool, a little funky, at least a little unconventional. but around you i seem to clam up, or perhaps you think i'm ordinary and so my nervousness becomes construed as boring. i sit because i thought you don't dance, but you jumped at the chance with her. caught out, i said my feet hurt.

you're dancing and she's biting her lower lip tentatively and invitingly though there is nothing tentative about it. i'm only watching her expression because i can't stand to look what yours is. so when the guy comes up to me and speaks in my ear, i don't stop him when he sits down. his hand is on my knee and i laugh loudly; you might look over from the dance floor - or you might not. i tell myself i'd like it either way.

you two are fucking each other with your eyes and intentions already. if i let this guy take me home or a nearby alley and fuck me you'll be relieved to find me not sitting here so you can do the same. but who will be calling who promiscuous tomorrow?