It’s cool if you take all of my cool points.
It’s cool if you take my fragile self-image and house it in an unkempt aisle of your rolling hip, where I can’t get at it
It’s cool because I say it’s cool and really nobody’s watching me.
It’s cool because you asked.
It’s cool because if I refuse,
you may never snake that hip,
above me again.
It’s cool because it’s a long life. It’s a long life to live not knowing what it is to be dealt out, laid out, palmed open, defenseless. It’s a long life to wonder how to be bruised.
Since I’m cruisin, I figure why not
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