I dip privacy, I get
spent, the flame in the cauldron, a tear dropping seconds, the pain of the
penalty, those Broadway girls—a smile at drunkenness, until it says rain, take
me for a ride—the blood in the turnip
the passion is a maniac
a gut laughing, she so fucking
beautiful, a lesser man would settle on a hundred-dollar gift, I need the whole
enchilada.
take me a defacto the pain feeling so
fucking remarkable—when I enter, the womb is psychotic, so moist so tight, if I
was smarter, if I was a genius, if God would call.
the fever in dynamite the fret in
assumption, such a
sycophant
so dear at the Alpines
so cedar, Love
at a million-dollar Parkway woman.
so aesthetic, such calligraphy,
listening to Pink—a bold fool, an ecstatic maniac, at her scent, loving
intoxication, gripping, pulling, a man can’t be more wrong.
