We are the nights

We are the moments you will reach for. We are the sticky, sweaty low-lit backrooms of a jazz club and you're dancing too close, too hot. Thighs locked between thighs as the bass strums a swinging beat. Swaying to and fro and low and dirty, rough and tumble with the city as your stomping ground. Streets to run through wild and free, find the next adventure destination. Slide through town on a string of saxophone slips and slithers. Twitch of hips, waggle of hand in a taxi you climb, slinking leg after luscious leg into the backseat of the chariot of the evening. Whiz, whirl, twirl about Broadway and 5th Avenue, rush your head around the buzz and call of the socialite's beehive. Patent leather high-heeled shoes clicker-clack down concrete streets, swishing skirts and shooing into hole-in-the-wall joints with light in your eyes and gin on your breath. A coo, a call, a cool rhythm boils up our blood and sends your hips shaking and shimmying toward mine. Tipped hat, ashing cigarette bouncing between two lips as we jive and boogie, hands exploring back and forth and leading the way around the smoky dance floor. Simmer, saunter down the darkened alleyways and avenues. Steamy vents and black and white smoke and mirrors, illuminate your face, you spotlit starlet and luxurious lover cavorting about town. These nights that blossom under activity and far too much spirit come crashing closed with sweet, enticing simplicity. We are the nights you long for, you cuddled up tight in blankets and suburban nightmares. We are the nights you crave, you claim to make your own when you've made it on your own. We are the ticket, the release from waspish, fetid and chained- let me free into the swirl and buzz of these stinging nights of unencumbered hedonism.

We are the nights you think of when lying braced against your cold mattress. Lonely, longing for the company of some heat, some action, some great show of life.