|Photo by Barbara 871013/6 from Pixabay|
Bleached blond mop like a cast, stiffly walking with a set of cans;
Twirl, flowered, patterned threads that make her dress sublime;
Blue hazel eyes that glance over to my overblown fly,
and ambiguous vibes that fuels my ride like a funky jive.
Note: This poem is from my book called Hello Mr. Satan, You're an Idiot! Check it out!