the boy who loves mud
found himself a girl.
so precise in rain spray,
in the art of biting remarks,
the boy who loves mud
slow dances in the ambient light
of the late night cabaret,
then leaves for a quick word,
a hug from a transient friend.
his girl closes her eyes,
continues the sway of her hips,
until he returns to fill the space he left.
the boy who loves mud
found himself a girl.
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