Sunday, January 27, 2013

The City That Never Sleeps

Heat hissing from a corner steam pipe in my room
Wakes me like a nightmare on Elm Street
But this is Alphabet City, NYC, not a Freddy Krueger film
Where the screaming is not coming from my mouth
But from the deep throat of a woman four floors down
Breaking into my room through a slit of open glass
Quickening my pulse and tying up my insides
Because I know those not to be screams of fear
But extreme ecstasy the likes of which have not
Inflamed my lips to such passion in months
But who’s counting?
The ticking clock by my bedside, perhaps
Marking the minutes of my celibacy and her rush to God
Oh, God!
She’s coming at 1:22AM
On a Friday night
When church is closed
But this is the city that never sleeps
And apparently, nor do I


1 comment:

Colin A. Samuel said...

Ahh, yes. What New Yorker hasn't lived this scenario. :)