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Click hereher voice is smokey
consuming you in velvet blanket,
a sensual warmth
too bluesy for her seventeen years,
spent on a hoedown island
without a nanny to teach
what can't be taught
tilting her back
belting out like a Bose,
taking you to gin joints
and deeds your grandparents did,
singing a skyscraper "Fever"
from a sand dune soul,
the girl just needs a band
the flidder has bloody hands
a very charming write sand~ I can now say that I have heard katy sing <grin
The last line should read: the fiddler has bloody hands
Sorry, I changed that line at the last second. I'll do
the edit thing and fix it along with changing hands to
fingers.
somewhat of a beach story painter, sandspike. So much growth since I have been here. I absolutely love your poetry, when I see your name on the new poems list I cant wait to dig my toes into your literary sand. another great one, made me giggle.
:)