Tucked Away in My Pocket

The soft denim, my jeans washed, yet this lint is like a tyrant marching his troops across a sea of wild flowers
I summon it from the battlefield 
I was too fucking demure to wear my sexy skirt and go without panties
I’m not a whore, but I’d let you treat me that way
(Pull my hair as I drink you in)
The shots and a pitcher of beer I want to enjoy with you remain as folded Hamiltons and Washingtons, along with lusterless and luckless ching-chang Lincolns that’ll be washed and fuzzy for my next hop here
I think your attention fell onto another time and place where your heart is tethered 
So I sit in awkward silence,  fiddling around with my phone, praying that you’d wonder about this girl by herself, and join me for a round or two
These moments here shall sink deep into the pit of pennies and desire

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