Do a little dance,
Traipse the line of impropriety.
Risque and enticing,
Perfect in all its qualities.

Fast approaching like a Monday morning,
I touched.
Sinking further with every struggle,
It's so much more real from where I stand.

Paper cups lay in disarray,
Chips ground to dust on the carpet floor.
Nothing's solved.
Nothing's absolved.

It's the little things,
The little steps.
The things you do,
Not the things you said.