No Room Service, Not Tonight

Don’t ask.

Nocturnal sophisti-pop,
trip-hop pulse,
cinematic soul.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/Da-e9hGSp1m/

The carpet swallowed
every sound
before the lift
had settled down.

The keycard burned
against your palm,
like a cigarette
still bright and warm.

Tu trembles un peu.
C’est bon.

I said,
“It’s all right.
Let me.”

The door swung open,
shut too soon,
caught in the hunger
of the room.

Was it the wind?
Was it you?
Was it me?

All three.

My coat fell loose
across the floor,
a scene that needed
proof no more.

The cart kept waiting
by the door.

We never
asked it in.

Ice in the bucket,
silver and slow,
giving up
what it used to know.

I didn’t touch you—

not yet,
not quite.

I only carried
your silence
from the parking lot

and spread it wide
against the window light.

Fixe-moi.
Pas le plafond.

No brakes,
no throttle—

still too far gone.

Fixe-moi.
Keep your eyes on mine.

No room service.

Not tonight.

No brakes.
No throttle.

Too far gone.

Fixe-moi.

Pas le plafond.

Room service.
Do you need anything?

I said, “We’re fine.

We’re only undoing
the years
we wore too tight.”

You said, “All right.”

Fixe-moi.
Pas le plafond.

No brakes,
no throttle—

still too far gone.

Fixe-moi.
Keep your eyes on mine.

No room service.
Not tonight.

No room service.
Not tonight.

Curtains open
to the city below,

declaring our love
where every window glows.

I want to see
how you lose your shape,

slowly dissolving
inside my sway.

On commence.
Maintenant.

Let’s start.

Now!