Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I want to bury myself in your loins
    get lost in the down darkness of a dirty slow dance
    all crooned up from ear to ear
    yours truly and all that hip to hip
    slow-sweet melodies of jazzy numbers
    twirl me into bedrooms
    dank and foreboding in red, red, red.
    my eyes absorb the lusty temperature of your thigh
    and you rest your hand on mine
    for a little while forgotten
    come undone in the glowing neon warmth of your
    purple fantasies
    red and purple making love in dismal bedrooms
    while the bar surrenders itself to the heavy drinkers
    who have forgotten how to lie
    all slooped over their tiny fallacies in hues of whiskey and gin
    oh the booze that is poured in the name of love!
    Left to rot into ulcers in someone’s gut
    a sad day for love when it winds up on the operating table…
    but those men don’t want our pity, no, or even our change
    they just want to see us dancing
    dancing, dancing, dancing
    our seductive melodies wooing them out of their cages
    temporarily lifting the stupor from their eyes
    maybe even recalling a memory of a fading erection
    and that girl not so long ago, her name lost
    in the buried sips of sentiment.
    Yes, we could make them happy for a while
    so before we close the door on our own games
    let us let them enjoy us
    and remind them of the stories playing themselves out
    in the slow dances of youth
    in the dirty dances of youth
    in the lonely dances of youth
    and our youth will seem not so young after all
    and the men will feel not so old
    and we’ll all bury ourselves in something
    but tonight I’ll bury my face in your thigh
    and let the booze unravel someone else’s melody
    their life in the key of e minor paired with a shot of rum
    at 3am in the anals of a bar
    somewhere, sometime,
    anywhere, anytime.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.