oh you russian
with your high high
throaty heavy voice
and curly hair
and soft body
i cant touch you
but i know you will
smell pungeant
like real skin
not the fake perfume
they tell us love is
you flipped over your lines
you read them wrong
fucked them, but did it
good good so your voice
moved in me
and that boy next to me
thought i brushed my knee
against him, when
really it was your voice
i was straining into
love is not a manicure
or a roman nose
its your dandruffy curly mop
and your inward toes
its your heavy heavy accent
mismatched beard
graceless fingers and
thick wool sweater
and i know if
i had met you in the mall
i would think nothing
cept -vodka bleeding man-
but now i wouldnt dare
to be in the same taxi
my blood would mingle
get drunk and then
who knows
youd never meet
your russian princess