On the back of most pants they are found,
Some have two, others three, and others none
Some travel on the front of shirts and tees,
Others seem to be, but are mere trimmings
In most are coins that birth chime, paper money or other pockets in the form of a wallet
Others are empty, while others carry the simple lip ointment
In others are keys locked to their chains,
While within others lies objects i would rather indirectly name... Oh fuck!
Gels, beads and protectors, things useful in between lovers
Pockets...
So full of use and so full in use
Mine, on the back of pants remain empty,
The ones on the sides dictated upon by whether i’m hurried or traipsing,
the former carry my phone and the mere lip ointment,
while the latter cocoon my hands and allow me thigh sensation
These, the various & overt pockets we know
However, the same and secret pockets of the heart
Seem to welcome the rush of blood at the thought of you...
