cabs honking,
voices blurring.
And the cold’s stabbing through my jacket
and into my bones.
At this hour, everything’s drunk.
Everything’s wild.
Everything wants something.
Including me.
But if he’s not holding a signed contract
or a sharp blade with his name on it?
I’m out in ten.
As I walk closer to The Cellar,
somewhere, someone whistles.
Around me, eyes crawl over my legs,
every glance grabbing skin.
Steps echo behind me,
same pace, same rhythm,
but each time I stop, so does theirs.
My spine knows before I do?—
someone’s back there,
usin’ my footfalls for directions.
I blow it off,
keeping one foot in front of the other.
Until I see him.
Straight ahead.
Andrew’s already there,
leaning against a lamppost,
lit red by The Cellar sign?—
half-devil, half-love song.
Black button-down rolled at the sleeves.
