F

The rags of his skin hung about him like a tent

'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.

by Lex Newman

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