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Sizzler
Up ahead
Sweet-talking
Tongue artists and
Smooth operators
Gathered to harvest
Their lines for a party
Five blocks down
That started at nine
Or later.
It was a massive gathering.
Quite compelling.
Ballroom extravagance
Shimmering tiles
And mirror walls.
Gargantuan numbers of bodies
Lined the halls.
It was filled with heads.
Pleasant company, to say the very least.
Whilst everyone took out their notes
To practice their speech.
We didn't notice
But not everyone
Could make it.
And so it began:
The approaches and words,
Seamlessly integrated,
Were flawlessly lined
And the punch bowl area
Always held
No more than five at a time.
It was a systematic beauty
To make the Willy Wonkas flinch.
Like an oxygen-exchange with air
As soon as one door revealed itself
We switched rooms
Like musical chairs.
With properly placed hands
On shoulder blades
And tongues of honey-coated acid,
We came
To render Sincerity placid
With sleeping pills.
Dirty napkins
Holding numbers written in lipstick
Were freely passed around
As we wiped our hands
Before shaking with
The next in line,
Ritually
Getting naked
And onto the ground.
Until eventually
The music had faded
And we were left
With only our sounds.
We had all mistaken
The flames
For what burned.
And worried more about
The sizzle
Than the bacon.
I did a head count
And there were about
A hundred and fifty.
I did a heart count
And the house
Was spotlessly vacant.
