fever

so many sounds.
seeds sown
sonorously,
setting type
(you’re just my type)
faces
asunder.

bring the red eye.

tricked-up
ponies trot
broken ankle
strides:
tickle the dancefloor.

languid pours
stream into
mascara flutters
like liquid
language
across the room.

test the waters.

cold feet splashes
pit pat
pit and
partake
of an
instep tango.

keep the time.
(do you have it?)

fingers cross
behind backs,
breaking bees’
knees,
knocking up
knick knack
smiles.

crush the spine,
sit a spell.

hackneyed harlots
hock half-
mast intentions
and insipid
instrumental plans
on the concrete.

save your last dance
for just one
more

song.

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