With nothing but our soul.
The kiss of a stranger,
Feeling the touch of danger.
Someone behind the locked door,
We don't know who they are anymore.
Hits or misses,
A thousand kisses.
A woman's hand,
High in demand
In this strange, strange land.
Disconnection under soiled sheets,
Moving to electronic beats
Show me your sale pitch.
Lets talk about the hard sell.
Man, it's all shot to hell.
An exchange of intimacy,
The brush of anonymity.
No impenitency
In this city.
We live in a red light world
With nothing but our soul.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.