I NEED TO STOP LISTENING TO JAMES BLUNT

I need a woman to save me:
preferably a waitress with hair caged at the back,
loose strands running down her neck
and evergreen tattoos growing up her arm,
turning into buds and flowers at her top arch
bend into shoulder and space,
with a large vest down to her thighs but the right side hem held up by her machine-
put the orders through the machine, press with a pen-
the other side drops lost and catches her walk whenever she turns or flusters,
musters up the courage to ask how their meals are going.

I need this woman to save me,
preferably the waitress with wild caged hair.


Graffiti in Tours