the crack

it’s where you live, sultry smiling and sorrowful, it’s where your son plays. it’s where I gone to officially lose my innocence cause someone like you didn’t want or understand me either you live in the 21st world, but to me I can see only dirt-covered farm face struggles, your son on the ground, standin smilin, but all I can see - you holding him. I see me refuse your money, grab your smoothness tanness arms, yes yes. kiss like a movie though I’ll never need to do that in my life. I see you with a toned back, blue peasant dress, rags, really. I see your hair——- But real is the look of debate on can you spare that tip? can you make small talk with this chubby white fucker? Can you bring yourself to not cry out, “Help me! Take my life and give it prosperity! Take my son and give him peace!” as only such a chubby white could do for you? no you smile because it reflects your essence. synecdoche in your flat stomach in your smile in your Crack where you live. I see you blow me a kiss smile after the door is not much but cracked. Really all is just part of you. Your hair brushed behind your ear, closing the door with your pizza in the other hand, still still still smiling.