Why I Don't Like Cocktail Parties

"She's very pretty - in an Every Woman Has Curves type of way".

She sipped from her glass; you could see the alcohol glistening on her lips for a moment before evaporating, and you thought about photosynthesis, and how plants are constantly transforming chemical into other chemicals and all our cells are always changing.
Her dress was the color of grape leaves, and her arms looked vaguely like vines.
You wanted to say that this made her seem ripe, but really, it made her look menacing.
She kept sipping, waiting for you to make some witty remark.

"I write poetry", you said.

She laughed.

"Recite".

Her eyes gleamed as she tilted her head.

"Lady of wine,
why do you not let me pluck of your vine?
I asked for a sip, would you give me a drip,
of that juice so divine?"

"Well, that wasn't Shakespeare."

Her head has gone down again. She purses her lips, then comes close and whispers, "I want a man who can be cruel."
"Do you think that poets can be cruel?"
"I don't know. It depends on their words."

You laugh.