She's up all night to have fun

'Don't stop, come a little closer

As we jam, the rhythm gets stronger' 

Am I in over my head yet?

Look but don’t touch, touch but don’t taste, taste but don’t swallow.

You’re always on. Whirring through my fingers but too fast for me to catch.

If this was a video game you’re 5 levels ahead and down to your last life. Me, I’m lost and don’t want to be found, my lives backed by a history of playing safe.

I like hanging out with you. You smell like a God and your veins are laced with stories and you got me hooked onto the Smashing Pumpkins and Daft Punk and in a strange twist of fate, you’re addictive.

Rule #1; you never layer the hole in your soul with cellophane. You create your own concoction of self love and talent and shit until you can crackle cellophane with two fingers.

You are slippery. But you’ve crawled up the slippery slope with battle scars you won’t talk about. And with gravity against you, it’s only fair that I gift you my mouth.

Rule #2; if it’s not going to a big place, don’t take it seriously. If you don't take it seriously, you never get hurt. If you never get hurt, you always have fun. “I’m just fuckin’ with you’, you say, one diss away from a slap. When you’re not in front of me, I’m not going to squirm thinking about you.

Charming boy don't wander, stay here, you're safe here. It makes me want to inhale your exhale so you can fill me up with lies from a lifetime ago. You're dancing with the devil and dying to breathe.

I will never get close to your skin because you will always hoard your sin away from me.

Rule #3; you win.

Fine by me

 "I'm counting to 10", I say as I trace my steps backwards.
"Bring it"
I find you leaning against a car like you've been waiting for me all along. That's some sorted swag you got goin' on but when you smile it slips and I laugh at the fail ninja in you.
"Let's get outta here"
Bombay sure knows how to set a scene and my fated flyover disappears into a dirty dusk. You've got your hands in your pockets again. I trace your tattoo searching for my spiral and you tell me stories about a girl you used to know. You tell me I look beautiful. This is not the time or the place but you cut your own hair and you're a storyteller and you know how to cook a mean crab curry and I have so many questions for you fast fast fast but you tell me anyway because this could go fast and nowhere or this could just wait right here till we figure out our fix.
"I'm sorry I went there", I say seriously.
"De nada, no worries. You're curious. Like a cat. And I never get mad at cats"
I want to unravel you spool by spool but strangely enough you make the best music with tangled tape.
"Kiss me"
You blush, not here, you say, not like this.
I would, I tell you defiantly, but I'm not drunk enough.
You laugh and you look like you're going to walk away but I order you to come back.
You want to. You want to kiss me. I can see it in the way your forearms pulse, the way you're holding yourself back and I tell you.
"I do, I want to kiss you."
I see it but I'm scared. The predator in me is out of practice and we're face to face when I realize I miss her.
I trace your lips with a target gaze and throw myself into you before I back out, I throw myself into you on a crowded bombay gulley, sequinned with stationary shops and xerox machines and people going nowhere. You open your mouth and kiss me back, you kiss me back like I'm Diwali in April, mouth to mouth, a heated resuscitation, my hands in your hair on your chest, a snapshot of album art till we both taste the same.
I can't seem to let go of your hand.
You leave but the winner goes unchecked because we're both blushing.
This time, you walk backwards.
Our audience cheers.