Friday Night

My stomach sings regret
as I wander around
the dorm excited
for a party
I did not want to attend.

My ride is late
and I wait
with all the
anxiousness of virginity in
an uncomfortably familiar lobby
going through the motions
of the weekend party ritual:

Friday night is a breakbeat
introduction to a club banger,
manufacturing anticipation
to heights that
will not be fulfilled in dusky
crowded rooms that swim in darkness
and sin until the kind pause
of sleep and drunk induced alzheimer's
washes them away.

As usual, the dancers will eventually
forget their steps
and we will find ourselves
in Saturday morning,
stung with the stale
sweat and wasted toil of our attempts.

But, finally, at the party,
this Friday night waits for me
in the lonely corners
of a loud room where
I smirk at blurs of girls
I'm not attracted to
but would sleep with.

This Friday night screams
for empty sex and
a dashing tongue
in the weary mouth
of the work-week.

I falter from the plan,
the party eventually
takes me and dances with me
and I unexpectedly fall
into a good time.

A woman keeps my
attention and rips away
my sanctimonious pretensions;
she is intelligent, well-spoken,
and hotter than Halle Berry.

We rock and tangle in rhythm
where I find her soft lips
on more than one occasion.

And to think I didn't
want to come.
This Friday night has tricked me,
and yet we both have won.

So, galloping, I find lifted
spirits and begin to fly
on the now sturdy wings
of the weekend, beckoning
Icarus and giggling with
my new 'friend'
about his failures.

Now, we work with rod-iron
and steel, so keep
that weak wax away
from our Friday night.

And after we recognize
that the dancers are
all tired having failed
in their doomed mission
to pen an epic encounter,

we stumble into a descending groove
in the breakdown of the song.
The pulsing beat of everything
we had wanted is gone while
the sounds slides away to Saturday,
showcasing what we have found.

but I'm no longer worried or morose.
I tell my ride to go on home
because I'm leaving with
this brand new friend
to a hyacinth house full
of pleased lions where
we can sleep until afternoon
after tumbling like burning banshees
in the pyre of unexpected weekend sex
and still say to each other "Good Morning."