His throat works around a thick swallow,
unable to get the words out.
His jaw locks against my cheek.
Everything trembling, uneven,
yet undeniably still.
Then his voice comes again,
raw and barely holding together.
“The fuck did we just do?”
6 /I CAN’T QUIT YOU BABY
LED ZEPPELIN
// OCT 10, 11:38 PM - SERAPHIM - MEATPACKING DISTRICT, NYC //
Celie wants to dance. I want to disappear.
We meet somewhere in the middle?—
Seraphim.
An underground club born from the remains of a gutted cathedral.
Crumbling columns. Cracked balconies.
A plastic dome pulsing with LED veins.
A fake sky breathing rain,
thunder,
and lightning.
As soon as we step in,
a scent hovers in the smoke?—
blown-out candles, burnt wicks, quiet ruin.
It smells like something once warm,
now gone cold.
In the pit, bodies blur into heat waves.
Too many fingers?—
reaching and spreading and grabbing.
Too many entitled hands
on hips and asses and thighs that don’t belong to them.
