To: Lowfish
You learn to become someone you’re not. When the music’s right, and the snow’s on the ground. When you get back to the big city and you’re the girl with the innocently blush cheeks, the unsolved face, and the wickedly intent eyes. Curious. You learn how to walk across the threshold, into a full room, and become the one who owns the space. The one who fills it. All. Steals your own. Bodies, swaying, dancing, reclined, intoxicated - your entrance is an alert. It’s not electricity that stops them, you don’t know what it is that stops them. But they do. Stop. In a way. Unless you’re right there it’s difficult to imagine. But they do stop. For a moment. Just long enough to regulate theirs beats, and then continue. All sideways glances, and unclaimed brushes. This is a night to take. Doesn’t every grrl feel like this every once in a while? Isn’t this a kind of power? This sexuality. This primal, tricky persuasion. Tonight I am the most powerful woman in the room. You can feel it.
With unsustained gratitude: Kyra
- posted by K. @ 8:54 p.m. |


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