Serial Poems Number Four

I met a girl

She’s a nudist

I talk

while she’s shirtless

but how do you converse

when there’s green alien heads

pierced through her perfectly pink nipples

Four faces, staring at me

Two on each smile of a breast

and her luxury curves, and her tapestry tattoo, and her phantom hair

A personality that brings those faces to life

a nudist that distracts me but I don’t care

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