on this ferrous old frame of the bus deck on which we sit
watching benches and see saws through gaps in trees and passers by
my speech architecturally wise and lost in meaningfulness
makes you feel a bit stupid though the stupidity is all in your head
and this dusty old jacket all blemished and chipped
makes my words feel like woodchip wallpaper to your cryptolect
the stripes of your dress are your rum doxy to my cad
spontaneous flower girl keeps reflowering and reflowering
