1849 was a great year for red lipstick and a free fuck
i see you standing by the saloon piano blue oxford sport coat patches and much bluer eyes
a thick brow and dark glare makes insides light up like a wind up skirt goosebumps on flexed heeled legs
the legs that became your universe and your gods in the flesh
the clothing pages of your bible, no clothing pure enlightenment
you are pious to that saloon but you're to stubborn to notice the christmases celebrating you
red and heavy breath christmas lights around a window decorating your areas
the stench of saloon piano bounced my ears and grated my naked arms to move
who cares if rich men want to exploit this aire and cease to breathe but smoke europeans
as long as I can afford an all black dress and rouge I will swing these arms around your saloon
flay my hair because i deserve every inch of this place and I will have it. i will have you.
