Five floors of New York City night;
Unlit stairs twist
Into hidden little rooms
Away from envious faces licking their lips.
The steaming woman
In short black leather quickly
Leads me through a hallway
To another envelope of shadow.
The darkness is her house, her bed
Where deeds, then denials, stick to the furniture and floor.
With nothing else to look at,
I focus on the cracked skin at the
Corners of her eyes.
Mark Staub
