You have a different geography at night; but then so does this city. Day sees you rather put your hand in a blender than shake mine; night sees you one of the dancelanterns held up invisibly above like a swollen starscape, leading me by hand through throngs until we find a newborn alleyway; you cul-de-sac me.
You wear that stunning dress. I am still in my pyjamas. You dress me better with red nailmarks from my thighs to the spot between my shoulderblades. In this part of town, no-one cares about two strangers making love. Our moans are outdinned anyway.