I sat there admiring
apunk rock geisha girl
decked out in the fashion of tea-time lovers
I was a victim of miss marston’s bliss
I was eating up her sweetness with a spoon
letting it drip down my chin in silvery drops
reminescent of the radiance of her thighs
which are covered in so much plastic idoltry
I stood like a stooge cherishing
a punk rock geisha girl
swaying to her candy-coated mouth music
I was a victim of miss marston’s bliss
I was slipping on her melancholy verbs
letting them echo through a likewise brain
cluttered with the radiance of her thighs
which are covered in so much plastic idoltry
I twicthed dumbfounded
at the punk rock geisha girl
so unaware of her queer hipness
so unaware of the sheer indifference
so unaware of the jauntness of her body
so unaware of the radiance of her thighs
which are covered in so much plastic idoltry
so unaware of me