Brooklyn Copeland - The Cheat

Georgia Peach,
your downy cleft

features pinkly
in Blue Jean's dream.

Nightly sighing,
he lets slip

the shared smile
smells of Dutch clover

and hot crotch lace,
and sleeping sees

the lotioned legs
clamped akimbo around

his face. Figuring hard
those fancy eights

against the stars
and bars of his buckle,

Blue Jean admits
his sin down the twin

barrels of jilted
Ginger Ale's pistol.