Jane

The wind holds its breath, it caresses our ship, we want to dance instead, in downtown clubs, with bad drunks hard hips, who can’t feign enough, those gloomy inward men, whose creative quips, make us sorry for them, they crawl like bugs, desire our lips, don’t care how we tut, we say what the hell, go take a pill, dab perfume erase the spell, this ship will fly with us, we know our maritime drill, when to unfurl or trim, always keep a steady grip.