it's that kind of place
it's that kind of night
the fog is inside
and the smoke rises
out
the legs - the thighs
the breasts -
a real bucket of chicken
a token of affection
an afterthought
in the parking lot
glasses raised high
replacing religion
leaving worship
trying to get home...
trying to
beat the sun
until then
we have a few hours
so let's dance.
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