(rude poem)

The sexy songs on the radio are too crude,
and these ones too, that I chose,
only remind me of tightly curled red hairs,
and pale skin, and freckles, and fingernails,
and all of their etceteras.

It's hard to concentrate on strangers statements,
their facts, stories and seemingly new news,
(well, it's all new for nous),
when those things are swimming in my head,
and when glancing at an empty hand is an image of two.