Boy and grandmother sniff each-others faces outside the 1st avenue subway station

I get stories from an old rocker

Been traipsing up avenue b since 76

Where did he come from

I came cause he needs someone to talk about his life with

And when I’m in no capacity to make small talk I’m good for the lending the ears

I don’t have anything of value

Let’s guess the names of Marilyn’s lovers and talk about her like she never needed a last name

There was a writer in their somewhere and he indubitably made her more crazy than she were

Tell me about the ex marriage

Tell me how your ex girlfriend ended up with the man you sold your Harley to

Tell me how your mother was dying of liver cancer and how her skin was the color of oranges

How when your lighter didn’t work to light my cigarette you said it was unlucky because it was orange and I didn’t know what you meant until you told me about your mother

Dying in Texas

Have to get her back to New York

And the tsa agents thought her cancer mass was smuggling something

Man if there were ever a boy to do drugs with

You can ask me all the serious questions you want

And when I miss your age by four years toast me because you think it’s a compliment and tell me how four is your lucky number for the third time

We have that in common old timer

And then there’s a beautiful woman looking my direction on the subway

And then I reread this on my walk from the train home and there an old Akita struggling to walk

And she fluffs her curls and checks herself in the subway reflection

The kind of soft you can see

The kind of olive you’ve tasted

The kind of men who devour and I don’t want to be mistaken for a boy because they are what is wrong

Take off the lace and black dress and I’ll protect from all the old timers who need a place for their old stories

I’m not just a barstool

And I could bring out the highlights in you more than your hair

I’ll try more

And you have a handbag between your legs and know you’re the most beautiful sight with your back turned

I don’t want to know the face and keep me guessing with the hidden sexuality

But flip your hair like the femme one I know and make me stay away from the gay bars

Turn your head over your right shoulder and maybe I won’t disappoint you

Maybe I won’t disappoint you

Maybe I’ll chain myself to this poll and scream like a child when you decide to leave your post

Let me scream when I can’t smell you anymore. Let me feel some kind of ramparts that were lost in the subway fires

Tell me how much trash is thrown and I will decide against my body’s contribution

You can slide your fingers down your own soft skin

I’ll pretend I’ve never seen knees before

I’ll send a text that I’ve spent the time typing regretting and wrap my wrist around something solid and silver to keep from falling

I’ll ask myself if I’m better off in my own head or out of it

I’ll ask myself if you were happier in my head or are you all out of me’s

Waiter I’ll take one and try not to make her too hot

I get a glance at the face and I wish I could hold true to my imaginary

My fantastic mind makes goddesses out of the ones who just want to be held and told they’re beautiful

The one I worship knows her power and wants me to make her hurt

What do we do with a combustion of power but let them sink their teeth in

Please get off at Morgan avenue so That I can label you and add another reason to my list of reasons not to venture in that way

Oh

Pink drinking watermelon water

And there weren’t enough women enjoying that taste

The goddess that I worship has beauty as a bandaid on her index finger

And the big brown eyes that tell me that she knows

Momma sees the dykes and puts me into their category but I am too cute for all that monkeying around

Don’t you find me flattering

Don’t you want me out of town

My eyes glitter about and there may be a power in the prowl

My goddess tells me that pda is a product of culture and no one is supposed to show that much affection

No one should wrap there arms around you because you’re like Rogue and your touch makes others hurt

So go home to your husband subway beauty on Jefferson and I’ll ride the train until the women of my dreams get on

I’ll flip my hair and gingerly touch my flab until you can’t stand it any longer

Let’s both pretend like it never happened

With your two lulu lemon bags

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