TUXEDO

SMOKING NO SMOKING

I go out, I go out, I run, I dance, I go out, again.
Asphalt and red carpets dress my realm, beating rhythm and pavement in search of meaning, I lead a colorful life in a world of black and white, gray and shiny, a ball of nerves raw and faceted for replace the cigarette, heels clicking in the wet night.

I dance, I drink, I smoke, I dance, again. On the stone steps of a deserted quay, on the red carpet of a staircase sinking into the basements of the rue Princesse, stumbling in the setting sun, thoughts clouded by the fumes of the party all the way to the sunrise.

I get dressed and undressed, the city lights shining on my polka dot top, dazzling reflections on this little rhinestone and silk dress, all mine.

I lie down and spread out, I get up and reveal myself, again.
Free as the saturated air of Paris. Tuxedo jacket on the shoulders to turn the heads of all those men who dream of electric nights with me.

I am white, I am black, a touch of jazz piano, I am transparency and voluptuousness, imprinting my mark in the heart of the night, I am brunette… and I miss blondes.