on folded arms

he stands against
an old wall
on folded arms
watching people
pass by

let time kills its hours
let it choke the minutes

faded denims
white shirt
he winks at the lady
who believes that
a man likes him
has a lot of time to
offer her

she is boredom
he is the perfect man for her

he kills time
he shall choke her hours
like the way her hands
press her breasts
squeezing
her private moments
to juices of
their complimentary
convenience