Legs Twisting #74
January 16, 2000

He sat, shy. 
Legs twisting upon themselves 
like dizzy roots 
under Oreo Cookie soil.
a heavy corded noose, pinched off thoughts at the palette
leaving nervous smiles and awkward wrists. 
We sat one body length away on the upright futon. 
I hid myself in my addictions 
and sucked Grade-A-security from a throw pillow 
held tight to my belly and breast. 

We smoked dry weed 
and mistook the euphoria 
of newness for getting high. 
I bought him airplane drinks 
of Jack Daniels- chilled.
I was a professional amateur, 
decked in blonde and blue 
He was the one who asked 
if he could play with my hair.