Squids, squidies,
I think they like the day.
That is not a soft pitch
but an explosion of icy evening glamour,
like a junkie who knows he can pass on the needle
and smiles before he thumbs the plunger anywho,
like a divorced man who discovers lust
for the Chinese place down the block,
this is the temperature on the border of the inside
of nipple skin.
Keep the engine running.
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