Saturday, 23 July 2011

Plastic Dolls

I love serious young girls,
so adamant they're women,
so drunk
on their own little experience,
that first little hit
of wine.

They brood and they
sulk, and their shoulders
are cold,
their moods
are precious flowers,
not flowering
in their own gardens.

Light them up
in sexual experience,
and they will go out
like a blanketed flame,
their warmth not kept
by the coals of passion.

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