Ross & Rachel | NYC & Me…

To my bae, New York City,
you were as aggressive now, as our very first meeting.
Even back then at thirteen, I dreamed of a taste,
Knowing I did not wish to stay, you know, forever…
Still, enamored by the haste drawing the dog walkers and day traders;
And so, eleven years ago, we began our dance…

In-between stops at nail salons and coffee shops,
You challenged what I thought I wanted,
Giving what I did not know I needed…
Now, with a woman’s eyes I spy, your androgyny.
A heart, home to a hustler,
Frustrating and indulgent,
We made love, to make up time, from ghosting breaks
Tears between gasps of taking my breath away…

I will cherish those fleeting moments,
As coffee dates evolved into after dinner drinks
From Harlem to Soho to Meatpacking…
And perfect nights ended with  Percy’s $1 slice.
Like a lover that flirts, and follows through…
More is more, if there is more; then leaves in gratitude.
Satisfying the body’s need to repair from the night before,
With an egg and cheese on a roll.

Mr. Big, an uncommitted secret keeper,
Your deceptive exteriors camouflage glamorous interiors.
Relentless, still you leave space for endless opportunities,
But your impatience was beginning to wear on me.
Lessons taught by no other teacher,
Created a woman wrought, by the figurative hands of a city,
Part woman,  part man.

And while your kiss is as passionate as your punch is painful
This is not so much goodbye, rather ‘See you later.’
To be counted as a break, not a break-up,
Like Ross and Rachel.

xo, Facemaid


Thanks to: Percy’s Pizza and Kim Anderson @howtokim

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Thunderbolt | Coup de Tonnerre

A night in the Marais filled with awful instrumentals that somehow still sounded so sexy, and laughter at idiosyncrasies, complimented by a smile as bright as a million moons; with perfect attention paid to every detail. Whispering in French, English, and Frenglish, while trading stories of wander and wonder of who we would be if we weren’t who we are, what ifs, what’s next and what feels right. It was one of those perfect Parisian nights ended by obligation, leaving behind a mental memento of the power of a mind or soul or body’s connection to another; indeed, magic, and the ultimate facemaidcapade.

Ouais, c’est magique…


Le 153 Bar- Paris

Le 153 Bar- Paris





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