Where the sun is banned and the air is black
Hypnotic music flows
Where sweaty money falls like rain
Pounding tempo grows
Where pulsing lights complete the night
Zannies whet the edge
Where the veil is torn, behind the glass
Stilettos walk the ledge
No price too high per pound of flesh
Silk folds into silk
Men laid to waste by harsh perfume
Drunk on mother’s milk
I watch you bend to beckon me
I ripen in a flash
Yet it’s not I you gesture to
But my sweaty wad of cash
Every time I see you
You’re dancing in the dark
I want to be near you
But we’re worlds apart
Every time I see you
You’re spinning in the sky
I want to be with you
But I can’t fly
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Reviews of "A girl named Krystle, or Tiffany with a “Y”"
Oh boy! Loved this bit of insider thoughts and feelings in this walk among the past. So many fantastic lines within this little short poem, I guess this one is my favorite . . .
"Where sweaty money falls like rain" Yep, indeed it does that.
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It certainly captured the imagination...
Diana...
Reminds me of a time I would like to forget. Great job in expressing the feelings most of us had.
Ron
"Where sweaty money falls like rain" Yep, indeed it does that.