Sleep...

A sestina about New York. Never been- want to. It's a bit sloppy, no meter or anything. Also- try to ignore the form I typed in.

words:

grime

street

kiss

night

slap

rise

A A girl who lives within the boisterous New York night

B Lives on instant coffee and thrives in the dim street

C behind the twenty-four hour deli with a cigarette and a kiss

D on her lips. She strolls the alleys with the sharp smack

E of her flavorless gum and a narrowed eye to the rise

F of the sun above the shining city and the glittering grime.

F Her life is glimpses of grafitti as she races along the grime
A covered sidewalk, late for her first shift of the long night
E ahead. She's never phased when petty crime is on the rise
B because what goes up must come down, and the street
D hums a melody to her with soft sirens and the smack
C and slap of her shoes on the uneven pavement. A kiss

C is stolen while waiting for the crosswalk to turn, a kiss

Fin the snow by the glow of neon lights with grime

D on their gloved fingers, holding eachother in the smack
A of cold wind down 45th. She watches countless taxis in the night
B on the fire escape, inhaling the air smelling of the street
E below with it's late night Chinese. She will will always rise

E before the sun, yawning away the nagging tiredness into the rise

C of noise as most everyone else awakens. Leaving a kiss
B on her coffee mug, she rushes out to the always there street
F with it's steaming man holes and swarming groups, the grime
A of sleep still clinging to her eyes, as well as the last night's
D make up, faded from it's stark black. She awaits the smack

D of her bike's tires on the board walk by the beach. The smack
E wakes her up as she breathes in the coney island brine. Rise
A and fall, short and fast, her breath comes heavy as the night
C weighs down on her morning. She remembers the last kiss
F of her evening in the darkened hallway. A layer of greasy grime
B clings to her unwashed body as she paces again the familiar street

B Waiting for something she isn't sure exists. She's exhausted, street
D noise rattling in her brain melting into the patter of rain and the smack
F of thunder over the high up towers growing up from the filth and grime
E that slithers along the gutter into the sewer below. The hills rise

C above each other, with her watching in heavy eyed delirium. No kiss
A rests on her lips anymore, only a restless pout that mourns a night

A f That had no grime waiting for her, only sleep, she mourned a night

C d that offered no smack of laughter somewhere or long and tiring kiss

E b The clatter of the street never lets her sleep, for if you never fall you never rise.