Hot In a Careless Way
I’m hot in a careless way,
Like a barn fire, or a stolen Mercedes.
I’m the B-side of a 45
That never got much air play
Except at the request of lonely girls
Sitting home on prom night
With thin slivers of moonlight
Slipping through their drapery
To caress their disappointments.
I’m an organ grinding gypsy,
A vendor of cognitive provocations,
Subliminal symbolism,
And academic totems.
My vagrant delinquencies
Have accustomed me
To settle my accounts
With handy lay about cash;
My ledgers are always well balanced.
So, when I need a little bodily love,
When I need a little bodily love,
Yes, when I need a little bodily love
I summon that sylvan nymph coven
Of nubile forest vixens
To witch their carnal spells
With dirty talk and tongue lashings
That cleanse my insecurities
And teach me the usefulness of emptiness.
Copyright © Michael Kalavik | Year Posted 2021
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