blood lips synched and thick gloves bleached
the cues on the floor are out of reach
stage sanitized to your fancy whim
X-shaped wooden stars dance above potpourri's prim
of amber varnish and shading vertical lines
we are now in a puppeteer's dream
your team (who's team?)
too anxious to satisfy your insatiable brim
or fill that awfully loose shoulder seam
question: how do you touch if you insist on keeping those fingers meek?
so i'd stop this streak my dearest and sweetest controlfreak
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment