This one is for the one that turns heads when she walks into the benefit, dress cut all the way to her thigh. The one that glows like Madonna in 1985 and Lulu in Something Wild , the girl that chases it, stalks it, follows it, goes to the movies alone. She’s a slight buzz, a whiff of perfume and and the touch of soft alabaster skin.
This one’s for the girl Sinatra woulda wanted at his table. The one he’d see across a room full of women, that he’d walk straight towards, lean over and whisper in her ear, “Where does it hurt baby?”. If she sighed, he’d lean back and say, “I know, it hurts me too.”
