La nuit dernière

Cold, dead eyes stare back at me

through the cheap, smoky mirror.

Predator or victim?

A little more mascara,

another dose of Candy Apple.

Squint, blink, pucker, pout…

Good to go.

Oh, but, no;

the incessant base thump-thump-thumping

outside the bathroom door,

the goofy stares at my boobs –

like they’re some kind of hypnotic Sudoku puzzle;

I’m sure my butt’s bruised purple

from all the usual pinching and slapping.

A couple of hours ago Neicey and I thought this was a good idea.

Now, my toes are clenched in these pumps

and my head is lost in a cloud,

half high, half ache.

Yet all the while a pleasant warmth rises inside me…

The door opens, I quickly turn.

It’s Neicey.

Our eyes meet in a way they’ve never met before.