Flippant Flamingo # 9

The air is thick with sex
Heat, sweat, light and music pulsing
Filling every nook and cranny. The room
Dancing frantically, bodies adorned with wings
Feel the subtle, heightened effects of the drug

Known as Buddah's embrace, an illegal drug
That enhances emotions, sensations, and sex.
Ecstasy give each dancer's mind wings
That beat with each beat pulsing
Sound waves that molds the cherry smoke.
In this huge, dark, hot room

No one person is given enough room
To naturally move, claustrophobia unfelt by the drug
Affected mass. Almond smoke
Hovers on the ceiling like an angel of sex
That shoots arrows, spilling the pulsing
White blood out of the dancers wings.

Angels of black circle their dark wings
Around each painted raver in the room,
Their barely perceptable heartbeats adding to the pulsing
Rythem that the small, chalky, white drug
Has encouraged.
Out of their minds with heat and sex
Dancers forget their cravings for methonal smoke;

Although the ritual nicotine smoke
Will give them temperoary wings
To survive the day with no thought of sex
And of that undecorated, rented room
In which they created a new type of drug,
One that gives their hearts a new pulsing

And pounding.
They lie pulsing,
Surrounded by their clouds of salty smoke
Creating the only sensation free of the drug.
They will relearn to fly with out those wings
Created by the enviornment of the room
That was full of musk and sex.

The wearing of wings takes a delicate drug,
A mind insane with sex and rabid with pulsing
In a room full of smoke and ecstasy.