she lives at the chelsea hotel

by Rachel Lynch in

Honey drips from the mouths of the lovers in the chelsea hotel. Moon eyes and a stella blue body, barefoot in the bedroom. White china claw marks.

Call it cupcake, call it atlantic lovers. She is waking in the Chelsea Hotel alongside him, sleeping like a feline to the sounds of the city streets bellow. It's not easy to get lost in new york physically, maybe mentally. She was really beautiful in the morning, easy-going and white floral aroma. Parisian styled windows to the floor with old drafts and a balcony for the midnights. Pale pink lips, child-like hips, staying up for days in the chelsea hotel.