Blue Stone
Blue Stone
Sagittarius piano fingers waltzing splendidly upon my laptop.
I can hear your nervous ticking heart clapping and tapping—
Collapsing there— as the meat philosophers send their brocades—
You never told me your name— whether real or frequently imagined—
As you came through my back door with nyloned legs shaking,
Your virgin-scented pearls shining inside my blue-eyed machinations,
Your curious feeders seeking certain electric favors with lip gloves.
Now you give your blue stone to me as one would gift a rich beggar,
To regale the climes with thousand island cadenzas and madrigals.
Sagittarius piano fingers dancing like salad fire upon my laptop.
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