SinnersLove

Summer Nights We slam our shotglasses into the low wooden table, Ties loose about our necks, Shirts drenched with sweat And the floral scent of the dancer Writhing around on our loose change And currency bills that have zero value; Work cut deep into our energies, Turning our brains to bread Our legs to butter Sharpening stakes and spears Tightening our leather boots And rushing through the yellow grass At the bounding elk; We slam our shotglasses into the low wooden table, Slapping each others' backs Like we are part of the same business family, yeah Our cubicles are as wide as grazing plains Our fax machines shimmer with s