It’s high tide.
Too rough for me to catch your vibe.

You take me for granted.
Caress my curves but forget to keep them sacred.

Just remember, hips don’t lie.
They’ve been telling you the truth time and time again.

They’ve been moving to your beat.
You just don’t take the time to join me.
It’s your choreography.
Yet I’m constantly trying to create my own piece.

You refuse to show me all that I need to know.
Time to curate my own show.