Wo Oh (with Yandel)

It smells of smoke, sweat, and something sweet - maybe rum, maybe her perfume, which has faded but still lingers on her skin. The lights flicker, the bass pounds in my chest, and it seems as if the world is shrinking to the line of her hips moving in time. Everything else is just noise, unnecessary scenery for a performance called “mutual attraction after midnight.”

There is no place for tenderness here - only excitement, predatory interest, and a spark that ignites glasses and glances. Everything happens too fast, too loud, too vividly to think about the consequences. In this dance, no one seeks the truth - it is replaced by the body, the rhythm, and the moment, which no one promised would last until morning.