is it the pattering or scratching sounds that steer my gaze astray? it’s a question of fingertips and womanhood but imagery is strangely absent from those encountered on the streets. this music is familiar to you but it brings an intoxicating energy to me as the streetlamps are electrified with the breezy rush of intrigue. thus, my hands lie open in a gesture of white hot wide eyed thrill. sleep seems impossible as i feel the thumping of the sun in my curling toes, knocking out lullabies to fill the basins of desire that splash in my ankles. strangers carry droplets to extinguish the flames, but only you can reach the gentle slopes and delicate angles of each spontaneous exhale.