This bumpy road, almost like a country song.
But this was no trip to holiday.
This fest of carnivorous stonemen.
Each with his bow and arrow
Polishing his appetite.
When I read between the minds,
their walls are spontaneously greasy
With the grease sticking onto my plate.
They eyed me.
My cotton soaked itself as it spoke to my back.
Slender and obnoxiously sexy.
A tongue game of red leaves.
They eyed me, maybe they needed some spices.
Judicious until I'm fried, I moaned
a song of hot weather.
1 comment:
Ahh..polishing their appetites- you have this way of placing the exact words in all the right spaces.
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