Romantic, San Francisco Is
written by: Waide Riddle
Midnight in San Francisco.
The beauty of this night is because she made it beautiful.
The restaurant on the high-rise roof is closing.
They let us stay just for a few more minutes without imposing.
Embraced on the dance floor, your favorite, my favorite, song spins under the DJ’s eye.
We sigh to The Hollies’ classic ballad, “The Air That I Breathe.”
She strokes my cheek with her finger tips making me shutter… butterflies… and heat.
The city spins around us as we spin. The city lights, so many, blur around us and stirring our senses.
Down below, so many lights, Fisherman’s Wharf and Union Square sleep.
Later, she makes love to me, the music still sings in our minds.
The city embraces us as we embrace it.
We both draw to a close and surrender to sleep.
She looks sleepily one last moment into my eyes and quietly says something…
I have drifted…
I dream of the beautiful city lights, millions twinkling and taking us away, in each other’s arms and naked.
The city at night is romanic and seductive and beckons.
I’m drunk on its beauty and I try to say, but it comes out silly…
“Romanic, San Francisco is…”
The city continues on in its night sway and dance.
The skyline at night is glorious.
The over-lighting.
The under-lighting.
I wouldn’t change a thing.
She is silk against my body.
As I am to hers.
I try to say the words again, but I am simply too drunk by the city’s beauty, “Romanic, San Francisco is…”
I laugh at the absurdity, eyes heavy…
Sleep.
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