A Girl Of The Same Expression
Starting to cry in the street,
a young woman waiting,
cold wind upon bare legs
too much ink in the eyes and lips.
The clothes matching the face,
the flesh too much like peaches
dissolved in photographs
ugly in slow motion.
Here comes the man, bothered by her crazy twisted shape, costume and ornaments
ignore the sonnets in praise of the beautiful woman: sex is at the bottom of it.
cruel demands for a girl of the same expression,
cruel satisfaction, her Eve infibulated.
remembered and nameless exposed in his banal ill used verses-
my lady is a symbol - mother uttered all masculine
She doesn't understand, folding into body language, crossing her legs like a rough edged castration instrument,
pulling in her backside like a big bag of money.
Knowing how to deal with the murderer with his charm and steel condom,
knowing how to smile beneath the lover with his smell of sweat and flab,
knowing how a woman feels.
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