The mansion had long been abandoned. In its glory days it had been the scene of a great love affair, many a party had been held in the grand ballroom, and a queen had even once visited. But now it was dark and decaying. Wild animals roamed and nested in the house. The furniture was still all there. The table was set, as if the inhabitants had been called away quite suddenly. But everything was coated in a thick layer of dust and all those who might have remembered the house when it was beautiful had been dead a long time.

Pivotal Moments

He was leaning in a doorway

talking to me.

I could feel the vibrations

between our bodies.

These are the type of pivotal

moments

that determine whether

two people will end up

in bed together.

And it hurts to imagine

that as I laid reading

at oh two in the morning

some time later

his body was finding its way

into hers.

And now my stomach feels sick.

Midnight calls

with the telephone cord

wrapped around.

Cherry lips speak of sin

and eyes of stardust tempt.

He longs to dive into her.

But she just laughs

running up the stairs

or down a hallway.

Pools of anticipation gather.

Scenes playing out

in the mind.

Tongues run over teeth.

A shoulder blade

seen in moonlight.

Bare legs crossed.

Cruel words spoken sweetly.

All the dance of lovers.

Happy Hour

The good cheer roars on. Strangers get acquainted in bars, whether they be hip or seedy and run down. Tucker Max is gulping down shots somewhere and there's a lustful couple in the corner. The air is humid and happy, just as the people. Some man sits alone, perhaps drawing architectural designs on a napkin, perhaps merely staring at the polychromatic glass bottles. But for most the revelry and affection go on. They don't call it happy hour for nothing.

No one wears hats as much as they used to. This isn't the first half of the 1900s or even the 1960s. There's no modern day Don Draper, suave and cologned. Suits aren't what they used to be, worn with such pride by so many day in and day out. The glamour has faded and now we don't feel the need to cover our heads with regalness. Ladies let their tresses flow and gentlemen brush their hair on a good day. Sometimes I wish we still had that facade, that fancy facade. But now we know too much of scientific and medical matters and what will end up killing us all, whether it be quickly or slowly. The romance is dead.