The touch of the woman is
the only thing that brings
you down from the cliff.
Hopped up on junk
or bummed out on bars,
or in them,
but, boy oh boy,
here she come round the corner.
And soon you're
seeing fields of
flowers --all swanky in
the wind-- see those hips
shake and dance?
see those lips twist and curl?
There she is.
And your mouth is dry and wide.
And your hands are
sweaty and shaking
And your eyes are static and cold.
And you're seeing gold
for the first time in weeks.
God, isn't she a sight for sore eyes
and a feel for your blistered hands.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 4:16 AM UTC
The touch of the woman is
the only thing that brings
you down from the cliff.
Hopped up on junk
or bummed out on bars,
or in them,
but, boy oh boy,
here she come round the corner.
And soon you're
seeing fields of
flowers --all swanky in
the wind-- see those hips
shake and dance?
see those lips twist and curl?
There she is.
And your mouth is dry and wide.
And your hands are
sweaty and shaking
And your eyes are static and cold.
And you're seeing gold
for the first time in weeks.
God, isn't she a sight for sore eyes
and a feel for your blistered hands.