The rags of his skin hung about him like a tent
by Lex Newman
'Baby girl, your orange shirt gives me the shivers
I've got a leprechaun for you back at the phone booth
Come to my harmonica and I'll give you my song.'
Said he, lifting the skirt of the man in the corner.
The grassy slope of her chest is a lovely knoll
Tumble down the lanes of her heart
So honey dear will have to look so close
Your whiskey breath will string beads on his forehead
And the temptress of fire gives her cold flashes
To bring her heart down to her ears
'Dont take advantage of my ocean
It's not the reins of my horse heart' she said
Her little fingers tripped on the doorstep
Too fast was she to be free.