Curves
Curves
Slow, cradled walk towards the goad,
Skin pink naked to the crowded few,
Light beckons the inner property pack,
Until the red is aphoristically bright said.
One body, one noon to habituate around,
One lapidary to bleed for tight inners,
One clavicle osmosis to two muscles,
Two refutals needed for the fame slat.
If society had a heart it would tick,
Anything for all people this or that,
Inside the other it would say alloyed,
Legal means not legal forgot to writ.
Rhoda Monihan
Copyright © Dominique Webb | Year Posted 2018
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