breastplates I imagine
as ample metal discs
each of the two, slotted behind my bosom
protecting my inside and me
residing still, to deflect those seedy rich ones
whose slit eyes snide smiles, flats and fats perch
buttressing of my hot tissues for those nipples pert
(my mind kept solely, yes, yes, yes)
and yet they suggest I dance
with flicks of long nailed dirt fingers, so
I'll gyrate her
but my own sway veils my essence
I'll dance her empty
but my own will moves through
and as soon as their gold is down
I will cash in my plates worth
sunday service here doesn't quite cut it
tough and sturdy earns, says goes to say...
(who are the needs who need more, and more? and more? i heard greed is one of the worst sins, but is the richest organisation)
crisp mornings will always suit me finer than them
head high and ploughing. i'll be forever going home to me
to me and my own
