You feel like a Thursday afternoon in September. Your presence is warm and exciting, but the line is so long. Waiting for you should be an issue, but it never will be. Even though you aren’t worth it, I have waited and will continue to wait.
You feel like a Thursday evening in September. You are a grand event and I’m tentatively invited. The light behind your eyes flickers in and out like a rickety attraction. You don’t need a barker; your damned demeanor has me in your pocket already. I could ignore you, but the chance of winning is too much to resist.
You feel like a Thursday night in September. The fair’s festivities are over. My hands are sore from holding onto the metal railings too tight, from holding onto you too tight. Leaving you is a lot like leaving the carnival. Blood thumps painfully around my temples from too much excitement and fear. Dusty shoes remind me where I’ve been and I have to decide if I should go back. Is my time worth a cheap thrill?