I touch the living skin on my dance floor
Gulping one adrenaline-infused chalice after another
All cups waiting to be refilled
Lapping, lapping the surging nectar from our pores
Tasting the moonlight
A night of infinite possibilities
and finite motives
So dangerously titillating
Destroying what is already dejected, decrepit
Taking all prisoners
and making no promises
Recklessly swapping paints
We make artwork of ourselves
and tell no one
of the canvas that would make O'Keefe blush