(still) waiting to be swept off your feet
woman, imagine with candy-cane smile just tells these fictions from mountain tops invisible, non-existent you, just now as then the dazzling cocksucker of radio talkers (not walkers), winding your fingers around flesh is as close to love as you know. woman, girl, child, think with soft eyes vericose logic sticking friendly farm-filler out there on roadsides, one town to another (ten thousand arms to hold you) needs of yours: dark solitary pretty boy fame turning tricks isn't what you call it but ruins (like zeppelin album covers) lie wasted behind you where you turn, nonchalantly to smile back.
2004-07-15 | 2:46 p.m.
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