New York - Portrait

I see a sinister fog Skulking on a furry paw Between the gloom of trees There is no law To uphold a falling pants ... These had exit not too long ago The pants sag to the knees Permits given ... if you please Walking like that ... I see the city wire tight tonight Smell the loud aroma of her skin Lasciviously naked Tenderly seducing my eyes Barely clothed In fresh garb of old gospel I am no Samson This is a trap for delicious expectations Of her chartered hell I join the anonymity of pain Feeling the hurt latent in each move It's a hard rhythm rapped in sorrow The music is not shallow The heart vibrated with plastic intensity I am learning to walk through The throbbing cinders of despair ... It's just like a bog And we tiptoe on paws of the fog There is so much necessity Defining each movement here.