It’s a tight circle a strange deviation
and I might die in the shuffle like Harlow
as I overnight ragcurl and victory roll
the platinum arm of the law.
You could not choose between the gold-digger and me
when I still believed in my life
like soft porn it depended on light.
We drank some rum my white blonde a halo
I sketched her striped dress and the house,
the house made us listen to records.
You whipped my haunches so hot and so dreamy
I forgot where I was. I stumbled the path.
I faked my own death.
Spiders are waterproof over the concrete
baby stars absorbing my blood.
I’m too impatient to lighten as desired
to dissolve that bad year to let you ride
when I, lemon fresh
am not quite called to anything.
Bees die when they sting you not when they sting me
and I keep the fake diamond
the French cigarette
humming rum baby, run from the destruction
or from that someone destruction will fuck.