The beat pulses.
The rhythm shakes.
And she never breaks eye-contact as she serpentines
around me on the dance floor.
I thank god for that.
Because even after 4 whiskeys
I can tell
I'm an awful dancer.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 4:32 AM UTC
The beat pulses.
The rhythm shakes.
And she never breaks eye-contact as she serpentines
around me on the dance floor.
I thank god for that.
Because even after 4 whiskeys
I can tell
I'm an awful dancer.
I went "club dancing" for the first time in my 32 years on this earth. I still don't know how I feel about it.
Request permission to use this poem