a cocked neck
to
the left allowing for a
more than careless
whisper to deliver a quip
designed to locate sexual
interest.
it was familar.
it was me.
she....
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cocked
Wednesday, March 4, 2009 | Posted by The Commodore at 11:25 PM 0 comments
Labels: Poetry
wiggles
And she got messy.
let her hair down
and washed away usual
with a few cute hip
wiggles
she knew max couldn't
resist.
Posted by The Commodore at 11:23 PM 0 comments
Labels: Poetry
this city
this City
When bars all had shitty 19" TVs with rabbit ears
And that trashy brunette
couldn't escape into a text message.
this city once had that
now the philosopher king sits
waiting for reason to take her
place.
Posted by The Commodore at 11:22 PM 0 comments
Labels: Poetry
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