A young man of his adages
Cloaked in maxed fleetingness
Approached me on the bridge’s overpass
And inquired as to the dewey,
Prostrate tinge my irises displayed,
.
And with some reluctance
Before the torpid facets inherent to life,
I told him I’d just seen a 17 year old virgin girl
With wavy hair
.
But whose eyes shone out in an arc
That gripped by heart and tugged it to its shore,
A rhapsodic journey of space and
The conception of tactile flesh,
.
And it had told me everything,
Ridden by that inner dark truth
That only women know,
Which they may take to one day chain smoke over,
Calling out raspy entrances at low paying jobs
Under rafters phallic and steely.