|
Mix it up and make it nice. |
|
Cussed it once and cussed it twice. |
|
Talking chrome and whispering steel. |
|
Escargot and lemon peel. |
|
Body language |
|
Body language |
|
Remove the bandage. |
|
Body language. |
|
Beasting lips. |
|
And private art. |
|
Treat it like an auto part. |
|
Bored, ignored and charred too much. |
|
Now it's me who's out to lunch. |
|
Body language. |
|
Knee bone's let it. |
|
Martian Landing |
|
Body language. |
|
And I, claiming warm welcome |
|
Breast fed |
|
Promises of buss lips. |
|
and then sleep. |
|
dreams of tossing turning |
|
In the market rubble |
|
Like a rat comfortable and secure in hell. |
|
Mouths never speaking |
|
All inferred, deferred. |
|
Not even spluttered, never screamed or shouted. |
|
All that's long gone |
|
Face dancing, body language |
|
Plastic metic flush it harder |
|
a cold medusa working larder |
|
Never try to touch me with out that thing. |
|
It's far too rusty. |
|
Body language. |
