I can smell piss, history and love
filling these vibrant streets at 3am.
Our caramel coated porcelain skin,
glows wildly under street lamps.
I’ve been hung, drawn and quartered,
by expectations and false notions of me,
but I’m past all of that, for now anyway,
as we haunt borrowed corridors.
We drink in our surroundings while we
shed our mundane bourgeois stresses,
and silent chrome giants watch us dance
around still horses to absent music.