You need more midnight in your descriptions;
In the tales you would tell
More tales you would never
And to wax a shade cryptic
Just a shade, shadowy
As the Macadamia bruise
On her sand hue hip
Moving crescentwise, low across your thigh
I said to my boy Nami
This chick can fuckin dance
Look at her: up there
Figuring it out, beat by beat
He had to laugh
Later, sitting close
On the long banquette
I said never change
What God gave you
She was about 5 feet eleven inches tall
With breasts small and high
And had moved fluid mantis
On that lambent stage
Her black eyes glittering in her dopamine
|