Girls Night

Listen, I'll be over at 8

I'm wearing black satin sleep shorts

with the rhinestones on the ass

yeah, he's seen them, he likes them -

and a Victoria’s Secret bra with the tag sticking out

so everyone knows I'm a d cup

Somebody spike the cherry

lemonade while I spread

tarot cards over the Peter Steele Playgirl shoot

and call it a seance with the

hot-rockstar-old-hollywood-rich-dude-come-on-now

touch-me-babe-you-don't-mess-around-with

him-overkill-john-wayne-in-stagecoach-wild

hearted-charming-poet-son who will

definitely save you,

because you're so hot

hotter than your baby fever

and the neon pink nail polish you chose tonight, hot

just like the chicks screamed in the bar bathroom

last night, where we wore glitter and felt groovy

as a floral tampon wrapper,

where the tatted up stickered up mirror reminded us

we're pretty enough to use men

for vodka soda, marriage

and if that one girl says anything ever again

about how her and that dude are “using each other for sex”-

she's so dumb, she has so much to learn

Anyway, let's do skincare