Three-am

My city is a musky mistress
Brooding on bedsheets
Scrunched and creased
By fitful repose
Jazz dreams of halcyon past
Speed-read behind neon flecked lids
High kicks, carriages
Top-hats and typewriters
Replayed at twice-speed

This night she rests
Office towers, her laddered tights
Bright thigh-skin shining through
She shifts in her sleep when
Cop sirens wolf whistle
As they crawl her curbs

I walk softly
And savour her beauty.

Bryson Thomas