"she plays with me"

At the Roxy she blows her horn,
it's running down like mud.

She's popping off canopy caps,
streams fly all over like snakes from a jar.

In the essence of her hands she blows to understand.
In the underground that flows from her horn.

There is a fleeting beat of which there's bleeding mud.
On slides bringing down my canopy love.

She blows it down on my olive hands wasting enough,
for in her heart it spills all over the street.

As the bread of our ears soak it up with the water broke .
In my olive oil hands slipping like mud.