she goes she goes
a weeble feeble talkin beauty
nonchelaunt shoulderblades with arrows driving away
wearing the
chain chain its silver
curb stop borrito and and and
and lightbulb string
plain plain he's nearer
with a no and no and no
Squeezeded thighs so tight and taut lovely motion bestowed upon the bag nothing
she beats it with palms that cry for splinters its an art hes an art
Maybe shaved icey sheets we throw
not to detterr but to better align.
with foot work to steal a glance to see the
chain chain its silver
He beats it along side me
asks me if i am a dancer
as i squat low to drowned
loose breezey liness
Hidden swung upon a chain
to hold my stuff.