we didn't go back to normal at midnight.

no, we kicked off our glass slippers flinging them desperately across bleached hotel sheets. postpone the transformation, you beg me; postpone the regret. as you hesitantly peel the pupal casing off my skin and look at me with lust-drunk alcohol-lidded decadent/indulgent eyes until the differences between chrysalis and cocoon blur into one. here, now, like an emancipated moth drawn to the light, I press whiskey-stained kisses against your breast whispering shamelessly into your skin of the night