maybe once they could feel the rhythm as it ripped through their very beings. but now the light mist of trance flows from the stereos and they cling to one another, sweaty and hazy, smelling of cigarette smoke and a foul mixture of cheap cologne and too-expensive perfume. they couldn't hear eachother's names over the music and the shouts of the dj, but they pretended they could. they slide over one another, alive in the music, a type of euphoria more about the sound than each other. his tongue might have been in her mouth but she didn't care - she was faithless after all and if that was what it took to match the euphoria of the heaving crowd, it would be what happened. it didn't matter that in ten minutes she would heave water over the club toilet trying to purge the sensation and taste from her mouth as the misty trance music became nothing but a slight silvery haze from below. a friend's hand is holding her hair back and the light graze of a familiar hand her skin feels closer to bliss than anything that could be given to her by someone written as her lover by the dj, over and over she regrets it , but she knows that in three days time she will crave that languid touch again, and the euphoric sound will fill her senses, smelling of nicotine and feeling so much lighter.

- 'stuck to the floor' by me, 2025