You're eighteen
and sexy
even though
you plexiglas
and evenflo
are relics of
a bygone time.
The tape that binds
your luscious hair
the way you and
your clothes despair
are siren calls
of a bygone time.
The hut you keep
and live within,
the way you keep
your secrets in,
the way you are
a little pin,
a little prick
to let it in.
The way you wear
a jaunty cap,
the way you and
your hope collapse,
the way your form
is like an asp,
the way your teeth
are prone to gnash.
The way you are
my precious mouth
a tapered thing
and pointing south.
