1.
More, more, more the chorus crowd cheered,
No, they were never going home until
Her massive tits were loved
And her pussy was loved
And her sighs spread out over Chesapeake Bay
From D.C. to Annapolis to the Eastern Shore.
A girl, my girl, me. We all like candy
So suck on it.
Tell her pretty pink lies
To her pretty blue eyes.
Tell her what she wants to hear,
Which is sometimes true,
Like a letter from mom
Or a boy saying I love you.
2.
Explore her, be her conqueror, her savior –
Make her feel that the glamour shots
Were not a waste,
That the 90s were not a waste of time
Making love on a pretend leather couch,
Their balls gliding across the slick cool skin
Of it, where someone once placed their hand
And said there, have a seat.
Love her. Love her to death
Please.
Make her feel like she’s the girl
You would’ve taken to prom if you knew
Her back then.
Taste every compliment she
Can return
In place of stirring eggs
Or other stories.
O the glory that is her—
She:
Done up for the camera.
3.
Made double by the mirror,
Made sacred by the night,
She snuck two boys in
And gave them fast hard memories.
Did them both.
Did them favors,
A spinning pinwheel of
Favors.
You can’t call what she did
Homespun wreckage, not
With lipstick that never moved
No matter what it was pressed against,
Not with a body that never flinched.
Not once.
4.
Now she’s a Mrs. and can’t
Buy the kind of fun
That she once gave away.
It was fun until she believed that
One man could track her down,
Keep her in one place
And not next door at Mr. Martin’s house.
