It’s the middle of the week and you shouldn’t be out this late but a friend of a friend kept buying you drinks and the next thing you knew the bar was closing and the lights were going up. There’s something about prowling a city that sleeps. Something perfect and quiet, peaceful, like brown eyes thick with lashes that find yours in the dark.
Like a symphony of synthesis in every steam-filled window. The click of a seatbelt and a hug that turns into lips searching for comfort. The pounding bass of a heart so sick with desire that nausea and anticipation merge into the other and build; building, building, breakinto a harmony on the better side of paradise.
Like peeling clothes from each other with a tenderness meant to bruise.
When the city is your lover and every step is a caress.
When the streets are your keys and you, you are the piano man.
La da da da da da.
http://www.myspace.com/kidsavant
Lindsay is a migratory bird living on the East Coast in the cold who spends her days working shitty jobs and planning her next great adventure. You can find her at http://birdykins.wordpress.com writing out her dreams and staying up all night listening to music when she should be sleeping.
