The crosstown express offers a sordid dance floor. Its design was to be a skid-proof, slip-minimizing, easy-washing masterpiece. It was the marvel of other less-adept vehicle flooring, but it offered little splendor for the cortadito salsa.
The liquid swishes; it must have latin hips.
My hands become the leading partner, a very responsive leading partner.
Drops of savoriness, I don't want to loose your smooth hazelnut essence.
Suddenly the street changes tempo to see how fast my cup and I can cha cha cha to its pothole taps. But I'm a veteran liquid dancer and have choreographed difficult streets before.
Oh yes, I have choreographed the dirt road soda can drink and highway cereal milk slurp. This city street has nothing over me.
May have to think twice as the warm liquid flirts dangerously with my hand. Don't be a tease; its our stop and now you're all mine.