My hips don’t lie

It's all about the game of the thigh

There's something liberating in that thrust

Bread crust

leaving trails of frail phone calls

Jeans that don't fit

Passports that never fly

It's all in those thighs

Flying by canteen stores

Vintage clothing

skinny dipping

skirts that never go up

And there's nothing but acceptance

receptions and greetings from scrumptious

hooligans

A pant pulled up too tight

a blouse that doesn't fit

fingers in between thighs

A bored night at the bar

No feelings attached

skin on skin, body on body

triumph of the Titans

something borrowed

an element of fragment

bite the flesh off that thigh

Can you see the mark

Hell hound from Supernatural

teeth baring and snaring

cry wolf

My hips don't lie

ask the fabric

Ask the woman who sewed my body suit

There's a strap showing

off your halter top

Take a minute and cut it with your teeth

you don't fit in with the background in the family photo