The whole fiesta is still under my skin — mariachi in my chest, mezcal on my lips, and I came home too wired to even think about sleeping. Peeled off everything but this blouse and now I'm just lying here burning. Come put your hands where the music left off.
Cabbagetown shut the whole street down and the band's still playing three feet from my face — stopped pretending I want to be anywhere else. Come find me before the last set.
Mezcal and salsa verde still on my tongue, and that music is still moving through me. Come taste what the festival left behind.
TIFF just opened the city up like a wound and I came home still vibrating from all that glamour, couldn't get this dress off fast enough. Tell me what you'd do with a girl who's already this far gone.
King Street is already closing off for Festival Street and I'm standing in front of my closet in my underwear trying to figure out what you wear to a premiere you weren't invited to. Want to be my plus-one?
Spent the afternoon with Avedon's portraits — all those people stripped down to nothing but themselves in front of his lens. Set up my own camera against the studio wall when I got back. Want to see what I look like with nothing left to hide behind?
Was supposed to be making a tincture but my hands had other plans this morning. Want to see where they ended up?
Free soccer at the pitch and I showed up before anyone else — turf under bare feet and the whole waterfront to myself. Want to come warm up with me?
The lake is glass and the jets don't start for hours — came down early to have the whole waterfront to myself before the city wakes up. Want to be the first one to find me?
The whole lake is vibrating and I can feel every pass in my chest — those jets don't care about personal space. You think you could get closer than they do?