Because I can't dance [S]

Here they lie, the brother first, and the sister then, in the very same bed and yet with those two very different people which are all alike called « me ». It is nothing sayable, the mysterious distance between the lover's hand and Madame de Rênal's cold one, something I may call schizophrenic frenetic sex. « Hey, what are you doing in my bed ? ».
So here I lie, playing it cool, acting as if I had not noticed what happened on the black cat's back. He asks me about my studies. He says he's a geologist and he likes stones, and for sure he's kind of stoned.
Oh, you can pat the cat, it's not the pet you want to pet, I bet. Its name is Fatima and it's on my boobs, I'm tired now and we're drunk like droobs. Cool down man, you ain't no rapper but a rapist, a sweet rapist that knoks before coming and whose flow is out of saying.
« Let's come and dance ! Please, come and dance again ! ». I can't. Suddenly it's my back, and the hand stays for too long. I'm not affraid as long as the cat is there. « What are you doing, man ? ».
Taking a part of the blancket, my ass, you want to see the woman in the bed, the very same bed in which nothing will happen tonight. You may be disapointed. There was no woman in there. No girl either.
He had certainly understood that, because he went away and did not come back. The hand had finally left my back. It is strange, what hands can do. It reminded me the old desires on the piano, when we used to drink beer in the boarding school.
Now an other ghost is haunting me. I used to be in love. It doesn't make sense. Have some rest. It's time to sing the chorus again, before it fades away in the night.

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