Catwalk
I know I am not as dirty as you want me to be but we can still re-enact a lover’s match give me a chance will you I’ve got a nerve pulling at my side and the whistle calling me to the kitchen like you, I might not come — to the level of witchery she pulled in those days, carrying in her treasure suitcase, pulling tricks out from her — jesting for me to come closer her box full of berries smelling of ruse of innocence of a rose like a fairy tale she pranced around the room - mirroring a 1920’s hotel with a bar downstairs, curtains hung heavy - like a fairy she spinned around in her silky 1950’s baby pink nighty, supple her body moved with the rhythm of my hands bending attending to her sheath - then you came right out of the wind and snatched that one. Covered her in gentle touch, you with your turned up collar and your sway you took her away.