I’ve got four hands.

Four hands for holding you.

Blisters on my hands from the pleasure.

Dancing to the dusted planet.

I hear satellite phones.

Four times the speed of sound.

I can’t take this foursome.

Let’s have a drink, and make it right.

Do the right thing.

Black cars, black cars, black cars.

Four girls waving good bye.

Children riding the merry-go-round.

Time to go out and get the newspaper.

I’ll pour the coffee if you pour the juice.

We’ll cut coupons.

Four.

© 2004 David Greg Harth

04.04.04.04:04:04@296NYC