A Walk Along Lemon St.

Just past 1 am we strolled up Lemon Street,
You wanted to show me the sculptures,
I wanted to stay close to you — I have a weakness
for the way you smell, that sudden smile of yours,
and the way your button up shirt was taunt over your chest.

My hand linked through your arm, we crossed the
road, night had cleared the city in glorious fashion —
like a private city tour, we walked for blocks with no one
intruding, reading the names on the plaques, staring
at various objects of art, the air heavy with intellectualism
and very electric sexual tension passing between us.

SJW