When midnight strikes and
Cinderella’s had one too many to recall that she
Had her pumpkin there all along,
We slink off into the black night.
Music echoes off of empty bottles drained by
Thirsty kids, too young to care about the implications of
Their actions or reactions or the
12% induced thoughts blurted out, in lieu of
A moment of silence.
Metal cans touch plush lips, they dream about
Kissing their neighbor on the cheek just to say
Hey, I love you, I think you’re ok.
Hey, are you ok?
And there are hands on hands and feet touching feetHere's to falling in love for the seventh time.
Cheers to a life in which all aspirations lie in the
Graze of two lips, put your hand on his hips,
Bring her back to your place and then
Give him the slip.
Hands, feet, hips, lips, snap shots of
Bronx memories, or lack thereof,
Which haunt these walls that
hold us in, but keep us
Around, hanging on to each other
For one more night in the devil town.