the silk won't stop you
it'll only act as a soft-to-touch glaze for a scar yet to form
and by all means fall over into pretty positions
but don't blame the alcohol.
That breezer-pint-shot-and-gill in your limp right hand
is a mask: a tied at the back ribbon to cover up your desired task of falling into the arms
of him,
or him,
or him,
or him,
or him over there.

just because drama school and it's endless auditions
didn't let you in, doesn't mean this Wetherspoons should either:
take a knee
have a breather