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baby, we aren’t going to make it to the party

we were darting down 5th avenue
heels and wing tips
seeking shelter from the rain
beneath each elegantly willing awning

when he decided i should experience
the finery new york’s art world had to offer

pulling me by the waist
through the glass doors of The Neue Galerie

my body slammed into the whitest of walls
trench coat and mouth forced open
we fuck-clawed each other
into an abstract painting

as a cocktail party roared upstairs
over midnight oil
singing beds are burning

4 replies on “baby, we aren’t going to make it to the party”

A well drawn scene complete with image (moving) and sound. I point to ‘we fuck-clawed each other into an abstract painting’ as brilliant descriptive allegory. Well done.

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