Striking Matches
By: The Red Cat Jazz of Love
As I begin to put my foot up these words ass,
I past the speed thermometer of sass
And left behind the fresh nature rain of moth
As I slouch in the thrifty sell of my couch.
Its like when I open my mouth
The saliva close the blinds and let me
Take you to the hood of my weaved together mop.
As I love striking matches in the rain
And blow the Mary Jane of your mind
I have concubine French manicure toes as a traffic sign.
© Julia L. Clark Registration Number TXu-331-190, All rights reserved




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