PRURIENT POETRY

dancing close
the night is old
music from the speakers emits frequencies
that stir up dormant libidos
(I've heard that 7 hz makes a woman come
or something along those lines)
heads shake and hair twirls
sweat richocheting
silhouettes along the wall
bumping and grinding
Sodom or Gomorrah
it's too hard to distinguish
between the genders
they are all balled up into one
phantasmagoric
beast
writhing to the beat
the disco thud
the drone of ecstatic sex
drug-induced sensory overload
each touch from her painted nails
launching several psycho-sexual sails
on subconscious seas
murky and deep
hundreds of fathoms below the surface
nothing emerges
from the pre-primordial soup
pheremones and seratonin
dopamines and endorphins
distorted proportions
and sips from sick elixirs and potions
increase these notions
and span these psychological oceans
bridging the gap between action and words
bringing them to satisfaction