I. petals

I threw up pink petals
For every day I missed you
But it all came up at once
As I walked out the door
To my white wall tire’d
Sports vehicle
How alternative could it get
I held a little black book
In my studded denim vest
Ready to give every coffee house
My Friday night best
Behind the mic
I lock eyes with the queers and dykes
I can tell who’re the local bikes
But I don’t buy rides like that
I am a Ducati prince
Not some Harley bitch
I may be switch but I don’t swing
I know how to make ties
Like a rope work king
So read my chops
Every petal I drop
Is meant for those I keep up top


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