Strolling through the French Quarter, hungry singles look at passers-by as potential lovers. Horny men shop for immodest girls drunk enough to lift their shirts and jostle their tits; while lonely women stop and chat outside art galleries and exquisite restaurants in search of well-educated men. This is how they met-- by fated accident, or so they say; only she wore a muumuu dress roomy enough to hide a handle of vodka and he waited tables at a strip joint on Bourbon Street. Outside the St. Louis Cathedral I watched them move in slow motion, run like Chariots of Fire athletes until close enough to clutch one another in a loving embrace. Occasionally things turn out that way but most of the time French Quarter lovers wake up early the next morning, leave faster than you can say laissez les bon temps roulez. Such is the life in good old New Orleans.
Prompt inspiration~ The Sunday Whirl... Words for 9/25/11: accident, chat, jostle, motion, move, shop, occasionally, strolling, passers-by, outside, clutch, look
I'm also posting this to Poets United Poetry Pantry