on the edge of fingers, lips lay.
She’s dressed in a net,
but she’s the one catching prey.
Blonde locks cover thoughts under hat,
bleached highlights - like the time she got it on at the laundry mat.
A mood ring,
don’t turn her on
and she’ll keep it a muted scene.
Chin forward and fingers crossed.
Praying for a diamond ring em--bossed.
She’ll become Mrs. Boss with no flaws,
running her mouth at the beach - and you running away from the new JAWS.