Crawl along the boardwalk with me
As they stare from their lofty marble balconies
With heated floors holding soft feet not made for walking

I scrape my knees along the cobblestone
And you stand beside me with your Gucci bag
Your tight black dress and sparkling stilettos
Distressed, you try to pick me up
But to no avail
Your sexy frail frame wants the conviction to lift me at all

Earlier we argued over dinner
And it came to verbal blows over ever flowing wine
Because busking isn't steady work
So you play your trump card on the bill
And we hail a cab
For it's calming effect

We step out onto your street still fuming
"You're using me!"
For what? Money?
That's when I get on my knees just to prove I want you
And concurrently show, in tearing my patchwork jeans for the 1000th time
I'm not in it for your money
You're in it for my 'joie de vivre'

"Crawl along the boardwalk with me!"
And you ruin your manicure, scrape your knees
And, at 25, learn to crawl

Comments, wherefore art thou comments?
This reminded me a bit of "Keep the Aspidistra Flying" by George Orwell. If you haven't read it, that probably doesn't mean anything.
It was good, though.
This was elegant and beautiful.

It felt a little too narrated and story-like, but that's only a qualm I have recently began noticing in my own, and others', work.

Apologies for my lack of anything truly helpful.