Lost girl

                                           A girl lost
                             in the back of the cab


 peel your lip back
  what’s it say


                             a pink tentacle
                            flops across the
                           suicide seats
      stained red
      with a slap


                                she closes her eyes
& touches her clit beneath her black 
dress
           to the rhythm of
              the window wipers steady
or a piano


                             they wanted three hundred
          now it’s six


                                   who was behind the wheel
                                  driving the lost girl
                                 to her destination
              deep inside 
this nothing nowhere
                        no one knows but her


I need a ride
she said Where to?
I don’t give a fuck


             her hooded eyes as blank as her face
                                           like a black cats or
                                                a new moon’s


it was Thursday
as we watched from afar
     the door open
             the door close
                        the black cab
          with the suicide seats
 stained red


                                        she touches her pink clit
    the tentacles coil
like condensation on a window
 like misterioso being beamed
  down by a vinyl crackling satellite 



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5 thoughts on “Lost girl

  1. perineums

    I enjoyed your poem, Lost Girl. It reminds me of the famous “Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife.” Also, have you ever read the erotic collection titled “Lost Girls?” Different subject matter but same title. Bravo! (From perineums.com)

    Reply

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