The Sound Wet Bald Pussy Makes

I can hear them on rooftops of empty buildings. The doors are locked and the fire escapes burned down.
There's brief bright images that shimmer down as shadows into the street walk below.
Its been along jog, having these around. Exhausting. It gets distracting. I hardly know where I'm walking already and then... Just once I wanna be on top. Within the crowd.
It needs to be there, though. Its commerce.
Primetime television speculates what happens on these glimmering rooftops.

It would be comforting on some level, maybe what our parents tell us. There is nothing that is happening on the rooftops. A ploy by the industry to make us look up and want.
It works well.

They make songs about what happens on rooftops.
There's magazines.
There's clips on youtube.
Whispers in halls.
Giggles from girls.
It starts to make sense. There could be something happening up there, and I want to give it a try.

Regardless, I'm walking somewhere. I honestly feel like i'm going again.
I walk while I look now. And I make jokes about it to anyone who bothers to walk with me.

I still would like to get get up there though.

I still look and sweat just thinking about before jumping into one of the gyrating shadows and laugh.

Here's what I imagine is up there:

Bass beats pounding out a marching order of grinds and groans... a sea of silk and salvia, flesh to flesh while pink light cascades through facets of ribbon.
The people drink nectar and the drink drinks back, a fountain that they decide to dive into deep. Boys and girls, girl-like boys and boy-like girls, and everyone else splashing around, kissing and hugging between playful bouts.

Sometimes I think about it and stare up.