Horse The Band

the lights are on
the tvs off
the floors are flesh and silk
both sinfully soft
skin glides over silk
and silk glides over skin
the penthouse is alive tonight
theres people writhing in its veins
sunken in the masters chair
lord golds face—a blank survey
women pleasure men at the wave of a golden hand
and turn to receive when it waves again
the wine is fire
the whiskys full of stars
theres a deaf mute in a bunny suit
working the bar
the lovers FUCK
they pulse and moan
passion paying tribute
at the foot of a porcelain.......
sunken in the masters chair
lord golds face—a blank survey
women pleasure men at the wave of a golden hand
and turn to receive when it waves again