Tonight the air is full
of that jazz sexy magic
the kind that oozes,
almost flowing
all across the wet sidewalks
 

cars zoooom, passing by
heels click randomly
with an insistent sense
of euphoria

(must be the season)

tonight the air
is drenched in high spirits
dripping from every balcony
plunging deep and low

the traffic-lights do their thing
forever changing into a blur of
perfectly timed flashes
the solitary cat ventures
to cross the street

my stride resembles
over cooked pasta
strolling awkwardly
toward the car

tonight the air seems to be smiling
at the just about right time
the engine purrs as usual
and nearing the first right turn

I smile in the mirror
of my mischief
feeling quite the male.