City music.

Stop.

The wind wants to play
with your dress,
Wants to run cool fingers
Along your slender ankles
With the edge of your skirt.

Stop.

The night is perfect, the city,
Perfect.
In all its noise and speed and darkened shadows and light.

Stop.

You are prefect in it.

Stop.

Listen to your one,
pounding, powerful, pushing
heart.
Pumping, pumping,
powerful
Blood,
Up and down
those brown freckled
legs,
Blinking life through those
green, green eyes,
watching, watching, watching the world, rushing..
-It swings, dances, more perfectly timed than a tower clock-
The rhythm of the cars
Rushing down the Boulevard
And then the people,
spilling out over the pavement,
The late night walkers, tourist shoppers, the Harlem hipsters, slapping booted heels against the sidewalk, the cracked and worn black asphalt.
Ringing out the cadence of the city.

Stop.

Can you hear that?

Stop.

Can you feel that?

Stop.

That
cadence runs
within
you.

Pounding
feet.

Pounding
heart.

The play for light in the dark.

Stop.