she's looking at me upside down
the wrong eyes dancing on a fluttering scarf
follow the cotton skull-patch on your temple
to black shades paper thin and wonder
what lies beneath
what's yours is yours but
what are you hiding
making it seem so worthwhile
I want what I can't have until
it is mystery no more
green on reddish raddish face
slide shoes no snow boots in a smooth blue swoon,
sailing silently along the sniggering sidewalks
I like this, life like a tattered clipbook.
Come here.
your face is a cherry tomato
(give it)
Now I'd like to take you home with me.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
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