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Description
It's nice here: quiet, warm.  I'm lying next to a sleeping admirer and the blankets are downy and soft -- too soft.  I feel bugs on my skin.  I want to feel the night air.  I want to blend, to disappear.  I want someone to stare at me because I'm a space for the eyes to go -- not because I'm human or lovable.  I need to get away, so I go.  Cozy boots.  Sweater.  Scarf.  And an open door to walk through.

I don't say goodbye to the warm body, sleeping, dreaming.  I don't say goodbye to my apartment.  I just fix my eyes on the next street lamp -- not because it's bright or comforting, but because it's a space for the eyes to go.  And I go there and find the next one, and I'm not thinking where I'm going, but I'm not surprised when I stop at Hospitality.

Hospitality -- a place for food and sleep.  I walk past chairs and pick a booth.  One breath out and I'm floating around the whole space --  and then it's mine.  I order soup because I need to feel the steam.  And it's so different from the cigarettes I make love to on the streets, but it looks the same through sleepy eyes.

And my eyes are closing, but my mind is jumping from stone to stone to river bank.  And I keep ending on what makes me me, and it's this.  This being alone in Hospitality.  And belonging to someone and someplace, and walking out.

Description
It's nice here: quiet, warm.  I'm lying next to a sleeping admirer and the blankets are downy and soft -- too soft.  I feel bugs on my skin.  I want to feel the night air.  I want to blend, to disappear.  I want someone to stare at me because I'm a space for the eyes to go -- not because I'm human or lovable.  I need to get away, so I go.  Cozy boots.  Sweater.  Scarf.  And an open door to walk through.

I don't say goodbye to the warm body, sleeping, dreaming.  I don't say goodbye to my apartment.  I just fix my eyes on the next street lamp -- not because it's bright or comforting, but because it's a space for the eyes to go.  And I go there and find the next one, and I'm not thinking where I'm going, but I'm not surprised when I stop at Hospitality.

Hospitality -- a place for food and sleep.  I walk past chairs and pick a booth.  One breath out and I'm floating around the whole space --  and then it's mine.  I order soup because I need to feel the steam.  And it's so different from the cigarettes I make love to on the streets, but it looks the same through sleepy eyes.

And my eyes are closing, but my mind is jumping from stone to stone to river bank.  And I keep ending on what makes me me, and it's this.  This being alone in Hospitality.  And belonging to someone and someplace, and walking out.