That Night

There’s that stretch of street downtown, near the water, lined with warehouses sitting big and curious in the dark. A street broken by train tracks and brick, dim lights humming in the night. People curled in doorways, forts built of carts and sheets, cardboard and plastic bags.

It was a thrill to creep along the street that led the way, wonder thrumming in your blood, your hands beating the steering wheel to the bass pulsing from the speakers. Here we go said your blood, the car skimming the wet surface of that street.

The world opened up down there. You walked under a streetlight, the yellow glow holding you still. It was perfect there, in that circle. Didn’t you taste it, Didn’t you yearn? Wasn’t it going to be good? That street took you young and jacked, brought you hot to the edge of a world. One warehouse throbbed and your name opened a door. The heat hit like a wall, the sweat pulled up and covered your skin. Bodies spun above, under lights that flickered fast and red. They swooped, skin and shadows playing in a pattern that settled hot in your gut.

Didn’t it hurt but good? Didn’t you want it to go on? Didn’t you need more? Didn’t you cry when it struck like that, didn’t you close your eyes? Weren’t you scared it would end, didn’t you hold your breath? Didn’t you spin and stare, weren’t they all around?

I need it again, I got it bad. Take me there, drop your name, open up. Get me wet, get me hot. Crack the clock, crank it up. Push me in, spin around. Hold it up, hold it high. Say it loud, push me down. Sweet night, you make it sound good. Tell me again. Your teeth shine. You’re on, you’re rock, you’re liquid fuck. You break my heart.

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