Is It Poetry
Why, People Stare At You
Perhaps it is the shape of your breasts.
The deep cleft of the why, some never can have.
The sky blue eyes, maybe green like you do.
Well muscled legs leading hips dance that move.
Can the man in the moon ever get out?
Once having come from the other side, new you.
Lip that never end at the tip but they do.
Is this maybe why they look so often at you?
Won't you learn how to cry them the blues, do.
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