I think she'd be a cool chick.
Heavy breath on the mirror,
Accent thick.
I like the way she holds her tongue.
I like it when she let's it run
lada-tap drag
On the bald man's skull.
Maybe we'd share a beer?
Maybe strongly pronounced fear?
The possibilities for napkins
and the waitress's pen.
She could ask me
she could clue
she could whip a smile
she could gobble the few.
I could ask her
how was your flight
how is you sight
like some tea?
Her pen dip like a dancer.
Necking thoughtful strangers.
Pornographic as a dictionary.
Humble eyes as to read the last page first.
Old ladies toe nail that surrounds all my girth.
I lend myself to no-one
As she lays her-self on the earth.
�2003 Daniel J Harris