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Paul Docherty, 24 Sep '12

She glides past the dumpster, replacing the street with a catwalk. Tail swinging, arrogant shoulders rolling. The warm sun on her back is the caress of stage lights. It simmers the drying sidewalk, lifts the musk of champagne and body heat. It shimmers, protects and defends, deflecting invitations, coarse words and smiles.

She strides, sunlight finds the puddle at her feet and sends camera flashes bouncing off her skin. Her boots scuff on the grime and grit of this gutter, rose-petals and sugar.

She rides the sound of slide guitar from the basement club. It reaches up through the grate and slips cool fingers with warm intent around her ankles. Her steps find the pace, work with it and then leave it behind. The music brings an ancient tale, her story is still being written.

Comments · 2

Page 1 of 1

  • Paul Docherty said...

    Untold Tales Entry

    • Posted 7 years ago
  • Susie Shircliff said...

    I like the pacing, it slinks like her. I'm intrigued by the last line- "The music brings an ancient tale, her story is still being writtern." It falls out of the pacing and I'm wondering if this is continued on somewhere or we're supposed to get that misstep jolt at the end to wake us up, like the morning she is walking around in?

    • Posted 7 years ago