Mannish
the night is cool and damp
and the incense is celestial
gathered leopard print
to match the blood red
etched paisleys in classical
when ginger and sassafras
hit the town tipsy
off the finest pink courage
ol’ Balatore has to offer
it’s modesty and skankery
on a sex rant
both cursing the slow pace
of lust at summer’s end
time is creepin’ up
and before one realizes
it’s December and you’ve got
the barrel of your sawed off
shotgun above the neck
where are our days
of graveyards and pants sliming
backseat rides and water icing
give me an aborted virginity
as a final gimmick
to outshine the vapid
blonde traditional whores
we’ve got the night
with an unfamiliar spice
we know how Jorge can make
Taj Mahal sound like
a Rod Stewart cover
and we can get the laughter
through a tube of glass
and down one of flesh
to ripple back out
in obnoxiously infectious glory
we wade in six foot pools
to wash the stain away
all the girls are single
ready to join our ranks
but we sit home masturbating
wondering if there’s something left
I’ll be garish if you’ll be mannish
and we’ll think ourselves to death
‘bout how fast talking
and topside growing
have brought us to this end
if winter comes untouched
doll it up for me babe
and as a mistress or a friend
I’ll do you in return