Upon the streets,
faces were hidden,
armed with ***** and beads.

In my hand a swirling hurricane,
as I walk down Bourbon street,
numb I am, like novocaine.

Swaying hips from side to side,
dressed like Carnival in Brazil,
how I do long to be inside.

A turn, a smile, a pose, and flash,
and the exchange of some beads,
pictures on my phone, memories to rehash.

She laces her fingers into mine,
walks me off the street,
her lips taste like the finest wine.

Unmasked now with carnal need,
in the alley, just off the quarter,
on each other we feed.