*****
WORKING GIRL
The moistened roots of your hair
let loose a smell unlike ordinary women,
A thick musk I can take hold of,
Nostril flaring scent, a bait in your mantrap.
The beads of moisture roll off you
down alpine slopes, deliciously dirty,
You work and make movements
poetry does no justice to.
A handful of you is dusty golden,
Washed down the bed, you turn
boulders to rocks and sway with
sandy grit sensations.
*****
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