girls in the shower…

gals

rough & lithe, tattooed; moving
the way junkies move.
her eyes almost give it all away, while
i wanna take it.
damn those supple
curves, and body language
languid after the fact.

she can only relax.

greetings so exchanged,
favors, flea-market value
at civil rights price;
who wouldn’t wanna see the
owners of perfect breasts pushed
against bare window glass?
i guess alcohol could convince
faster than i could beg.

my favorite dykes
always have good stories,
maybe some blood, a few wrecked cars,
borrowed gas money,
rattlesnake t-shirts;
everything wrong to be questioned.
i needed the Marquessa to
explain it all to me.

i’m a dumb kid.

parsing welcome, good luck,
temporary passing on a warm hug
overflowing with meaning;
situationally rich. period.
underlined.

no matter
who sees what,
doors close and girls leave,
leaving the scent
of summer perfume.

de quincey would be proud
of me for reaching backwards;
i like to think he’d fall in love
with the Marquessa and hate me
for being a friend. about the girls,
i have no fucking idea.

i’m a dumb kid,
i always need it spelled out.

————————————-
Dedicated to all my dyke friends. Y’all have been a bunch of muses for reasons I couldn’t ever possibly explain. Thanks for the loans of the magic, even if you know I can’t pay it back.

crb.

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