of all of the men who have smiled at me
who spoke of the sparkle, the rain in rich places
hushing down black leather boots
with concrete couches and smoke that billows zig-zag
between cracks.
I once thought the height of walls
was hiding something from me. A moon, perhaps.
A moon, soft round and sweet
A moon so supple if you bit her
she would bleed.
Not one I could climb upon and get
an erection out of.
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