My son runs in the street.
Naked.
I made him.
He's just too young for clothes,
Too young for rules.
He cries with his arms.
Too young to know.

Neighbors turn their couches,
As much as they can.
Their eyes follow his thighs,
Paying close attention to each flex.
He is my commercial.

O, how i wish my father let me free!

yellow curls escape your head ( Read more... )