(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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