What She Can’t See

As she walks, her
Buoyant nipples press through
Corded tank tops, doubled, tight on her torso
Dank air hangs about her face, hot with compression, she’s
Euphoric in a sense—
Fucked in another.  She
Gingers her way around the city,
Hinders behind chimney tops, and
Indulges in men’s skin. She’s
Jovial in the talk she talks.  She
Kinks necks that break as she walks—
Like a tiger.  Shoulder blades go up and down, graceful
Motions of a greased cog.
Neither happy nor proud of herself, she
Oscillates in such a way that her eyes capriciously
Peer at her prey, knowingly, and
Quaintly
Rendering in possibility.  Her soul
Sinks to her pedicured
Toenails, anchored.  She lives in a world that
Undulates the
Visceral instincts, her nervous system
Works so hard to
X-ray the bodies of the
Yappy hipped-hopped men she
Zealously desires, which can be read upon her lips.

 

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About laurenfedorko

Aspiring writer. English teacher. Philosophy: know more about the world than you did yesterday and lessen the suffering of others.
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