Rogue Vogue

Standard

 

Feel this
blonde wrapped
round an incisor
wound to my left canine
No need to lick
back of hand
coaxing dryness
exclaiming
‘I think you have it’
We both have it
Now kiss me with your hairy tongue

 

My Rogue Vogue solitary tumbleweed can befall those of us with longer locks, or those of us with a dear friend of a hairy abundance, causing the ‘Hairy Panic’ 

Perhaps I should have named this poem ‘Hairy Panic’ after the pesky Australian tumbleweed currently in the news.

 

 

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