My heart races at mach six for you.
A boom box that would make Janet Jackson
Break dance.
Each glance
Pops fifty more cents into the juke box.
We dance in business socks.
When I kiss you:
Pop rocks.
I’ll call a conference
And smoke you like a cigarette
Back stage
To censure the news.
But there’s always a leak
B/C
I’m a see-through screen
I spill head over heels for you,
A tsunami in your wake,
I follow my heart, and do a dance:
Can’t be faked.
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