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your come hither hips
i play the part of the smart ass
writing notes on napkins
that one uses to wipe up dark beer
as the night rambles on in a hotel bar
like a bell tower hammer
time should mean nothing
and a moment with you seems
to have no decimal point
it is a strange tender
that is measured in
an exchange rate
of your kisses
let's buy some potting soil
the smart ass says
let's start a blossom
in your pleasure garden
lets take that juvenile walk
down a snow-covered street
where shoulders bump making
little crescendo sounds of anticipation
a pinball flipper move jostles us apart
a sideways glance at your sideways glance
is stirring of the romance gazpacho
no, those little noddles in the night
don't really make a sound
but the touch of your body in public
is a clammering of indiscretion that
peals a big sloppy grin onto my face
