everylady dancing

What if every lady I ever met 
and fancied a look or what
else I could get were
collected en masse 
in a nude
discotheque,
grinding and twerking
and working a sweat while I hung
just suspended above the dancefloor,
in a slow-twirling airborne glass cage, 
with my meat on display like a sex 
zoo exhibit galore?

My hands grip 
the bars - my eyes frantic, implore 
someone anyone! Please get me
out of this, or

I will rage in the cage,
and the glass may break!
And - look. falling glass? That
sounds dangerous, mate. Falling me,
too! Smack! Slapping into
that crowd
of happy nude every
lady I'd rather not injure, 
somehow.  

Anyway, what if that? So what?
What if then? 
What would I do, hotshot? 
And when? And 
how would I know 
to go docile or rogue? 

I tell you what I'd do.
I'd vogue
vogue
vogue