poetry critical

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the perfect woman

would be a six foot
with skin like hot sand
rastafarian locks
shanghai eyes, doll sized feet
gyrating latin hips
breath of cinammon or tumeric
fragrance of a botanical garden
all topped off
with an irish
but all i have is you
in stilletos
swaying and mumbling libido loca
boasting a fake tan
bloodshot eyes
droopy eyelids
two braided locks
an orchid behind your ear
about to barf
a whiskey and coke
last nights
broccoli and sesame chicken.

la vida loca
"you can't always get what you want, you get what you need"

2 Dec 18

Rated 9 (9) by 2 users.
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