Oh LA, you dirty girl.

Oh, LA, you sexy vixen, with your curves and hilltops.  Meet me at a nice motel, let me ravage you if only for a weekend, let me feel you under me as I thrust through your tunnel.  For such a manly city I still treat her like a lady, take her out to the finest restaurants, yet still she hungers for the taco vendors on random corners.  She’ll make me go out of my way, into iffy neighborhoods, to get the right one.  Man, are they worth it, though.  She spruces herself up a bit from time to time, too.  In the last 3 years she sure has upped her game; nice, clean streets almost looking like sheets ready for me to rumple up.  Nice, tall buildings like legs I want to get in between.  Taking old looks and turning them into new, more expensive ensembles, but still keeping some things the same.  Driving down her streets is like sliding my fingers up and down her arms and legs to get to all the good parts.  I drive with the windows down so I can take in her scent.  I drive and I drive and never seem to get lost, there is a place for me anywhere on her.  Even as I take flight and leave her body I still see her eyes at night twinkling at me, not saying goodbye, but definitely letting me know next time she’s not letting me go.