Whiskey Nights

Whiskey on his breath,
Whiskey and Vodka on hers,
So close, moving to the rhythm.
She's not that type,
Honestly, just a few times.
It's an addiction though,
The smell of Whiskey,
The heat of bodies,
That floating feeling.
This isn't her though.
She feels lightweight,
Nothing bothers her,
Alcohol flowing in her veins,
It's the release she needs.
She's a good girl though.
She moves to the beat,
She feels free,
Whiskey is on her breath,
And of those near her.
This isn't who she is though.
A stranger's hands on her hips
Someone elses breath tickling her ear
Her fingers running though a strangers hair
She just wants to forget it all
She's pure though, she's sweet.
The next day is what she hates
Her night of release though Whiskey is a blur
She feels grimy, she needs a shower
She puts on her suit and prepares for work
This is who she is, Miss Workaholic
The drink is replaced,
Coffee instead of Whiskey.
Paperwork and customers instead of music and men.
She has moments of wishing she was free,
This is who I am.